


Steel and Storm

by digitalgoddess



Series: Steel and Storm [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Love V, Romance, Sexual Nature, Slow Burn, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-03-26 08:41:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 35,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3844438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/digitalgoddess/pseuds/digitalgoddess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ser Delrin Barris was amazed the day the Inquisitor walked into his life. Breath taken away at her ability to stand tall, laugh despite the hardships around her, and actually be true to herself and the Inquisition, he was head over heels without even knowing it. But nothing comes easy when a Templar falls for Mage, much less a Dalish Elf...who just so happens to have caught the eyes of another. She whittles into his heart despite the fact, eager to find out more of his rocky past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> A multichaptered fic of Ser Delrin Barris and Nirah Lavellan. I'm following canon as close as can be, but that man deserves way more love than he gets. As always, all my works can be found on my tumblr prior to here. http://digital-goddess.tumblr.com/

“Inquisitor.”

His words are harsh, biting and calculating. Nirah shakes her head and looks up, sleep deprivation clear from the hazy look in her eyes. “Yes, Commander?”

He swallows the words, wanting them to come out right. “The Templars,” he starts, fingers finding the hilt of his sword, feeling each groove through gloved hands. “They are questioning your abilities.”

Nirah sighs and pushes her hair back in one sweeping move, bangs tumbling down as she tilts her head, staring at the war map. “Of course they are. One, a mage. Two, not a Circle mage.”

“Inquisitor,” Cullen sighs out, glancing around the empty room, the door shut. “Nirah. This…this is serious. If what you have planned for the Templars is to take place, we need them on our side. We cannot afford another incident.”

She sighs and grips the edge of the war map, fingers playing with the soft edges. “I’ll go speak with Ser Barris tonight then. He’s still stationed at the forward camp?”

Cullen gives her a curt nod, fingers wrapping around the hilt until his whole hand is there. “I suggest you rest first. They will still be here tomorrow.”

“In a more sour mood. Cullen,” she whispers, almost a purr compared to her Inquisitor voice. She’s smiling at him and she reaches towards his hand, her fingers grazing over his as she stares in his eyes. “I’ll sleep after. I promise. The bed in my quarters was just brought in and it’s beckoning me. Let me deal with this first, though. It will only take a bit.”

Cullen nods and turns his head, staring out at the sun beginning to fall. “Go on then. I’ll see you tomorrow? For our game?”

Nirah laughs and starts messing her hair, putting it in place. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

It doesn’t take long to reach the forward camp - a short ride away from Skyhold, down the paths that were created by hardy workers. She dismounts, handing the reins to a kind stable boy all too eager to help thee Inquisitor. She moves through the camp, eyeing the Templars sigil. They all stare at her as she walks - she’s too regal for an Elf, too snobbish for an apostate, too proud for a mage - and makes her way past them to a larger tent. Barris hadn’t wanted it - give it to a family, he whispered, it could house three or four men easily, he fought. But the Templars had insisted.

They fall behind him like ducklings in a row and he mothers them so.

“Lady Inquisitor!” he nearly shouts, staring in horror as he reaches for his tunic, pulling it back on, stumbling as she simply stood there. Nirah’s hands are clasped behind her back, squeezing them in watching the fine muscles. “Forgive me, your worship. Had I known you were coming, I would have delayed my uh -”

Nirah moves closer to him, shaking her head. “It was a surprise visit at the suggestion of Commander Rutherford. Your troops are well?”

He tugs the tunic in place, the heat from his cheeks rising to his ears as she strolled around his tent. “Honest or appease?”

“Honest, always, Ser Barris.”

“They are…disappointed, for a lack of a better term, at the,” he chuckles when she moves to his bed, sitting on it and touching the lumps, “the hospitality, your worship.”

Nirah smirks and tilts her head. “What do you suggest I do?”

“Your worship?”

She leans back - the bed does look inviting, far better than her normal straw bed roll in her clan, far better than the rocks out in the wilderness. “What do you suggest? And quit it with the ‘your worship’. It’s bad enough when everyone else does it.”

He bites at his lip, cautious of her. Apostates are never to be trusted. Elves are demons in disguise, tempting him with their lithe bodies, their sinewy muscles, their woodsy fragrance. “I suppose better sleeping accommodations could be made. Skyhold is a large enough place where, if even given a few rooms, a rotation schedule could be made, perhaps. Better meals, provided, would be nice. And - and you’re not listening to me.”

“Hm?” she mutters, curling against the lumps, smelling his scent, hugging the blanket to her face. “Oh. Yes. I can allot five rooms for now. Once more of the,” Nirah yawns, covering her mouth and shutting her eyes, hiding the sparkling ponds from his gaze, “mm, castle gets repaired, I’m sure we can,” another yawn, louder this time.

“Inquisitor, you…you should get some rest.”

He moves over to her when she doesn’t respond, muttering the Chant in his mind to distract himself at how she rested - curled up, hugging the blanket, squeezing it to her face. “Mmm. Rest with you? Ser Barris,” she chuckles out, hand reaching up, her eyes still close as she grips his fingers - so rough compared to hers - and tugs once. He stumbles, knee to the bed as she turns on her back.

“Maker’s breath, Inquisitor.”

“Nirah,” she purrs, eyes half lidded, pushing herself closer to his pillows.

“Andraste preserve me, this is a demon. It must be.”

She snorts and pulls his hand to her chest, pressing it where her heart thumps quietly. “I am not. Tired, yes, but a demon? No.” Nirah tilts her head, auburn silk against the white of his linen pillows. “Why do you think I’m a demon?”

He stares at anywhere but her. “If you are tired, then take my bed. I’ll guard you for the night, but Maker, Inquis - Nirah, I cannot -”

She sits up, hand moving up his arm and stopping at his heart, feeling how quickly it pounds, feeling how hard it rattles against his chest. “You need rest as well.”

His tongue is thick against the roof of his mouth, swallowing his breath. He doesn’t say no and allows her to pull him down into the bed. She shifts and sits ups, the cloth jacket to keep the biting cold pulled off and thrown to the ground. Hands slide under her tunic and with a few mutterings of curses, she drops her breast covering next. Back down against him she falls, her head nestling just under his shoulder, staring up at his marvelously green eyes.

They remind her of the trees in summer winds with how fast they search her face, his scent is clean and light, almost like a spring.

Waiting for her to laugh at him, snort and giggle. Anything, anything but stare at him. “…This isn’t a trick?” he whispers, afraid to clutch her to him. It’s been too long since he’s slept with a woman by his side.

“No.” That one word is like a song to him, and he moves his other arm to her elbow, pulling it across his torso.

“Good,” he mutters, clutching her now. “That’s…good.”


	2. Part Two

There’s a sound of metal clunking together, rattling against chainmail. Murmurs creep into the tent, followed by a bout of chuckles. Nirah is still asleep, her fingers pale as she clutches tighter to Barris’ tunic, face contorting at the noise. Barris turns his head away from her, trying to calm his breaths and gives a tender stroke of his fingers through her hair.

He would have been up already, would have been dressed and rousing the sleeping Templars. He would have been on his way towards the makeshift Chantry that Mother Giselle had set up in the camps below Skyhold. Instead, he had spent the past hour watching her. Counting her breaths. Running a nervous finger against the side of her face and seeing her melt against him, cuddling close.

Her eyes open at the sound of marching, wide and darting around at the unfamiliar room, the unfamiliar sounds, the unfamiliar chest rising and falling. “Did - did I…”

Barris whispers, his hand giving a slight shake before patting her shoulder, the lingering feelings of her hair against his palm. “Ah - ye…yes?”

Nirah pales at the thought. She had been so tired, so exhausted, she had fallen asleep without even realizing it. With no consideration. She went to move and felt his muscles tense, fingers pressed into her arms. “Shouldn’t you…go with -”

Barris sighs and tilts his head away from her, eyes shut if only to keep the blues of her own out of his mind. “I should.” He inhales causing her head to move up with his chest. “Maker forgive me, I don’t want to, but -”

“You don’t want to?” She stresses the word, lifting herself up and away from his warmth. That is until he pulls her back, strengthening his grip as he opens his eyes, eyeing the front of his tent.

“Ser Barris?” a voice calls from behind the canvas, fingers scratching against it. “Shall I inform Mother Giselle that you will be attending the mid morning mass?”

Nirah swears she hears giggling and shrinks lower against Barris, tugging the sheets over her red face. Barris’ breath hitches, turning from the tent flap tied down and down to her, nervous at how low she would actually go and Maker if she went too low…

“Yes! Yes, thank you! That’s - that’s fine.”

More chuckling, giggling, and she can hear him muffle a groan with his hand. When they hear the footsteps lead away from his tent, Nirah slinks back up his side, pushing the sheet away from her face. “I didn’t mean to overstep my boundaries. I’m so very sorry,” she whispers out, afraid that the other Templars overheard her.

“Had I wanted you to leave, you wouldn’t be here. The fault is my own, Inquisi -”

Nirah chuckles, her nose crinkling as she gives him a playful glare. Her mouth hangs open for a few seconds, but to him it’s torture watching the bottom lip fall, revealing the row of bottom teeth. “What did I tell you? I remember that much from last night.”

He rewards her a quiet laugh, brilliant eyes shutting for a moment and squeezing her tighter to his chest. He feels her body relax and rests against his pillow. It had been too long, too many years, since he’s held a woman like this. His fingers are pressing into her upper arms and Nirah practically climbs on him to release the tension. She rests her hand against his chest, feeling every beat of his heart. The ties of his tunic are between her fingers and she can’t help but smile at him. But she can see deep within the sparkling emeralds a storm of trouble. “What’s wrong?”

He stays silent for a moment, contemplating the words but never releasing her. If he could have his way, Andraste preserve him, he would hold her for as long as he could. And it killed him inside to think that. It physically broke him. “We should,” he starts by muttering, his tongue like sandpaper against his lips as he tries to moisten them. “Ah, that is I should…get you back.”

Nirah swallows her words, nodding against her better judgement. When she goes to pull off of him, Barris keeps his grip firm. “Ser Barris, it’s difficult to -”

“Delrin.” He hadn’t heard his given name spoken from lips of a woman just about as long as since he’s held one so close. “If…If I call you Nirah then -”

“Delrin.” It’s magic in his ears the way she speaks it, the way it rolls and curls on her tongue. It’s toxic to him, complete and utter poison sure to make him weak. And he needs more. Barris sucks in his lips, praying to the Maker that this is real, that she’ll say his name, for forgiveness in the way he feels. “Delrin,” she repeats it, quieter, testing it.

She’s so like her and so different, he thinks, releasing his lips and loosening his grip. “I’ll escort you, Nirah.” And for a moment he almost speaks her name, almost says the name of his lover from ten years past. And it hurts him, his heart throbbing at the mere thought of her. “You’ll have to give me time to dress and,” he licks his lips, wet this time, afraid to let her go, afraid that the moment he does she’ll disappear, she’ll laugh at him, she’ll turn into a terrible demon sent from the Fade. “And let me…up.”

Her smile radiates warmth and Barris feels himself holding her closer. “You’ll have to let me go, then.”


	3. Part Three

The walk back to Skyhold is long. At least, Barris thinks so. She could have ridden her mount, leaving him behind to scowl at the mixture of thoughts storming his brain. Instead, she insisted he escort her. And who was he to disobey the Inquisitor?

Their conversation was kept simple, filled with short laughs echoing along the mountains from her. He starts to listen to the laugh, actually listen to it, noticing the slight change from when she’s truly laughing and trying to hide something. He hears it in the pitch, in the tone, and he stops just before his feet hit the stone bridge. “You’re…hiding something.”

“Interested in becoming a Seeker?” she chuckles out, taking a few steps in front of him.

“No, I’m quite pleased with being a Templar.” And her smile falters for a moment. “You are though,” he speaks fast, taking one step closer to her. “Hiding something?”

She tilts her head away for a brief moment. “Perhaps. Maybe I just don’t wish to go back to Skyhold.”

Nirah locks her eyes with him, glancing behind him at the trail they had just climbed. “Your wor -”

A finger pokes him in his cheek and he stutters at the touch. “Nirah. Repeat it with me.”

“Ah,” he starts, his chin dipping to avoid her gaze. “Nirah. Yes. I fear your advisors will worry.”

And it’s true. In part. He gestures forward, letting her take the lead. She keeps quiet, fingers fumbling with the reins, tracing the stitches up and down as they reach the metal gates. She pauses and turns, her feet sliding across the stone like a dancer. “Alright, Delrin,” and his spine tingles when she speaks his name. “You tell me what you’re thinking and I’ll tell you what I am.”

He raises a thick brow and looks past her, the troops of the Inquisition already roused and starting their training. If he listened, he could hear the barking orders of the Commander. “You first, my lady.”

“I’m thinking how charming it would be to actually get to know you. Not just small chit chat.”

And her blunt honesty thrills him. It's unexpected and hits him like a blast of magic, stunning him for a moment as she tilted her head to the side, hair moving from it’s place. “Get to know me?” he says while staring back at the trail. “Is that not what -”

“I mean really get to know you. Your likes, your dislikes. About you.” Is that faint pink coming from the biting cold air? No, Delrin Barris knows when a woman is blushing at him. He’s used to it and used to keeping his eyes forward but Maker forgive him. With Nirah, he can’t. “Your turn.”

The striking of metal on metal reverberates in his mind. “Me?”

“What are you thinking of?” It’s that airy laugh that stumbles him again.

The truth? Should he tell her that he’s thinking of her smile and how much life it brings into the world around them? And how much more brilliant it is to hers? Should he tell her that he’s thinking of the light in her eyes? And how much more sparkle there lies in them than hers? “I’m thinking of,” and he pauses, licking his bottom lip, watching her lean forward and her nose crinkle in excitement. “My…my previous lover.”

And with those little words, words he wanted to swallow back up and never let out again, the color drained from her face. Her lip fell and she swayed away from him, hand scratching against the back of her head. “Oh.”

He could feel his heart beat faster, feel it begin to rupture in his chest at that one simple syllable. It repeated in his mind. “She died.”

She takes a step back, face contorting in confusion and sympathy. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Was it -”

“The Blight. She’s the…reason I joined with Lord Seeker Lucius.”

Nirah’s thirst for intimate knowledge started to shoot off like a tree in the midst of growing. “Mage?” she chimes in, biting her lips back before adding in haste, “I’m sorry if that’s -”

“No, not a mage. And it’s not too personal.” A sympathetic smile crosses her lips and Delrin wishes she would return to the brilliant laughter. They can hear movement coming from inside the walls of Skyhold, a bit of unease settling in Delrin’s stomach. “You and her have -” He breaths in, thinking of the right words to say, unsure how she would handle being compared to his dead lover. “Well, you’re very similar.”

Nirah opens her mouth, the words, “Inquisitor!” coming over her voice. She snaps her lips shut, still staring at Delrin despite the soft pounding of metal coming their way. “Maker, where have you been all night?”

Instinct kicks in for Delin, saluting towards the Commander. “Forgive me, Commander Rutherford. It is my fault.”

Cullen acknowledges the Templar for a brief moment, his eyes shifting towards Nirah. “We were worried about you. Had I known you were going to be staying in the encampment for the night -”

She smiles and bats him away easily. “Cullen, I simply passed out. There’s no need to fret.”

Delrin sees the look the Commander gave Nirah and feels his stomach twist. He had no reason, no little bit of sense to feel envious. “Perhaps next time you will listen to my advice and save these meetings for mornings. Ser Barris,” and Cullen breaks the lingering look he shared with Nirah, turning fully back to the Templar. “I can assume she was of no trouble to your Templars?”

She rolls her eyes with such flourish it moves her head. “Cullen, I’m not some silly little Circle mage who gets her kicks off of seeing Templars being flustered. Besides, me walking out of Ser Barris’ tent this morning is more than enough to put the Templars in better moods.”

“His tent?”

“Maker,” Delrin mutters, covering his face with one hand.

She laughs, the same brightness that filled his heart prior was there again. “Andraste preserve you, Nirah. Please do not tell me -”

“Oh hush. Delrin was a perfect gentleman. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I feel a bath is in order.” She tugs on the reins once and waves at Cullen, turning and walking backwards as she calls out, “I meant what I said, Ser Barris.”

With a spin, she was off into the keep, leaving the two men standing on the bridge. Delrin keeps his face covered, watching through split fingers at her walking away. The ever looming presence of Cullen snaps him back to reality. “She didn’t make you uncomfortable, did she?”

“No, Commander. Just not used to, well, people like her is all.”

Cullen nods and turns for a moment, tilting his head back towards Delrin. “She’s a bit of a free spirit. If she does bother you or your troops, let me know. I don’t think she realizes how unsettling it is to have a mage presence so freely around Templars.”

With a nod, Cullen walks back into Skyhold, leaving Delrin to head back to the encampment on his own. His thoughts move a mile a minute. They shift from her and her beauty, her power, her grace, her laughter to Eris.

Just the name causes his mood to shift. Just the name brings images of her laughing face, bright golden eyes with freckles across her dark tanned skin, honey brown hair tied up and twisted all in the proper place. Just the thought of her as she walks to the Chantry doors in Denerim, smiling up at him with a heated gaze. Eris. He remembered purring it out into her long ears, nibbling on the tip as she wiggled in his grasp. He remembered the congratulations he received from his brothers at the Chantry. An Elf knew how to keep quiet about those kind of relationships, not wanting to stir up their people in the Alienage. An Elf knew that the Templars would be kinder to those that stayed silent. An Elf knew that the Templars would bring them extra food, extra supplies in exchange.

Delrin wipes at his mouth for a moment, biting back the sob that so wanted to out. He wouldn’t think of her. He wouldn’t think of her.

Delrin quickens his steps. He needs to pray, he needs to be rid of the thought of Eris crying to him, her hands shaky.

_“What do I do?”_ she sobbed out to him. Delrin stops moving, hands on his knees as he begins to pant at the memory. _“Maker, what do I do, Delrin!”_

He remembers gripping her shoulders, pulling her closer to him, and kissing the top of her head, rocking her back and forth in the shadows of the alley. _“I will protect you, Eris. No matter what. My brother, he’ll need a head chef soon enough. I - I don’t want to see you go, but he will protect you there.”_

He remembers her sobbing more, her hands falling to her stomach, fingers caressing the slowly growing bump.

Delrin falters, his hands gripping his head as he shuts his eyes.

_“He looks like you,”_ he whispered to her ten years ago with a brilliant smile permanently across his face. _“Honey eyes and honey hair.”_

_“Delrin, stop. He’s got your nose and lips. By Andraste, will you get in trouble for being here so late?”_

_“I would never miss the birth of my son. What shall we name him?”_

The tears are falling, falling, trembling down into the slush of snow and dirt off the tip of his nose. “Miel,” he whispers over her voice in his mind. “Miel, my little honey child.”

He hears the echo of boots but the memory is so vivid, so bright in his mind that he ignores it. He focuses on watching the Alienage be closed off due to sickness. He focuses on catching glimpses of the Hero of Ferelden fighting her way through hordes of Darkspawn to reach the Elves, to reach her people. He focuses on following, abandoning his brothers, chasing the trail of blood and death and the putrid stench of the Blight. He focuses on barreling through her shared house and seeing her dead, seeing his son dead.

If he had only forced her to his elder brother’s estate. If he had only forced her to come to the Chantry with their son at the start of the rebellion. If only -

He felt the cool essence of magic on his back and he spins in his spot, hand extended and the pull of lyrium from his chest striking the Mage square in the face. His hand falls and he rushes now that he can see clearer, stumbling up the hill to catch her before she falls.


	4. Part Four

“Creators, Delrin! I’m fine!”

Her body fits so easily in his arms and she’s so light compared to what he’s used to having to carry. He expected some resistance, some outrage from her, but all what he had gotten in response was her shaking off the stun and surge of the spell, shaking off the draining of her magical powers. He sees where he struck her, eyes darting down at her and back up to watch his steps, back down again to glance at the bruise that was forming around her nose and eyes.

“You’re bruising. I’m so sorry! Oh, Andraste, forgive me!”

Nirah sees the red in his eyes, sees the traces of wetness. He’s cradling her, fingers digging into her sides as he dodges out of the way of troops staring in wonder. “I don’t think that Andraste is going to be furious at you for -”

“For striking a woman? Yes. Yes I think she will.”

Barris moves fast through the growing crowd, eyes searching them as he pushes himself through the flap of the tent, pressing her down onto the cot. “I’m serious, Delrin -”

“Let me get a healer,” he sighs, lifting away from her. He pauses and turns, watching her sit up and moves to correct her, his mouth already opening to apologize once more. He hears the tent flap swish open and feels the harsh gaze stinging on his neck. He coils his shoulders up and spins, staring at the jaw drop of his Commander. “I was just -”

“Get to my office,” he seethes, his jaw clamping tight. His temple throbs; another headache to add to the rest and the sun had barely kissed down on the fields. 

“Cullen,” Nirah moves off the bed as she speaks and Delrin is already fleeing. “He didn’t -”

“Did he hurt you?”

She blinks at the change in his tone, compassion replacing anger in a blink of an eye. His thumb brushes over the bruise and she flinches back at the slight sting. “It was my own fault. Stop -”

“You didn’t answer me.” Her heart pangs at the way his voice drops low, his thumb turning her head so he can better look at the bruise forming. “Did he do this to you?”

“Cullen,” the name slides out of her mouth like honey on a spoon. “He didn’t mean it. You asked me to fetch him and my shields must have surprised him.”

“So he struck you?” Another tug on her chin and Nirah twists her head away, free of his grasp. “If he as a Templar cannot control -”

“Creators, Cullen. You’re acting like I’m a fragile little doll. I’ve been hit before with a spell and I’ll be hit again. One wave of a healer’s hand and it’ll be gone.” His jaw tightens and he shifts his shoulders back. He was taking the stance of a lion being challenged, his chest puffing out.

“I don’t think it is wise for you to be near the Templars, Nirah.”

“Aren’t you a Templar?” she snaps right back at him, squinting her eyes as she watches him.

His words stumble as the puffed out chest is deflated. “That’s - I didn’t - Nirah, I mean…” He takes a breath, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he catches the smile she bore whenever she had thought she won. “They’re…different. They’re not used to mages such as yourself freely roaming.”

She clicks her tongue and nods. “Says the man who was in Kirkwall.” Nirah moves past him without another word, stopping at the entrance to turn her head and give him a sidelong glance. “He is not in trouble, Commander. If I find out that you’ve reprimanded him in any way -”

Cullen nods his head before her words are finished. “Of course, Inquisitor. I apologize for showing concern.”

She sighs and lets the tent flaps fall, turning on her heels and walking towards him, hand reaching out towards his and giving his large fingers a small squeeze. “Cullen,” she whispers out, her head dipped low and watching his fingers curl to squeeze back. “I’m going to find a healer. Take a bath. Go through reports. After all of that, I will meet you for our game. Then, and only then, you may show concern.”

He lets out a small laugh, barely even a chuckle escaping his lips. “Of course, Nirah.”

It doesn’t take Cullen long to climb the steps, to reach the door leading into his office. It doesn’t take long for the anger that was dispelled to be replaced. It grew hot, burning in the back of his mind at the carelessness of Ser Barris. The man had always shown nonconfrontational measures when regarding mages. He always showed a firm mind, a straight mind, a clear mind. And the fact that he hit Nirah square in the face, a spell that had no need to be launched at that level, it made his blood boil and run like an overflowed river to his heart.

Cullen opens the door and saw the man pacing back and forth, fingers gripping his head. He pauses and looks at Cullen, dropping to a shaky salute. Cullen shuts the door and aims for his desk, picking up his chair and placing it in it’s rightful spot before sitting down. “Explain.”

“She surprised me, Commander. I honestly -”

Cullen raises a hand, stopping the man from talking. “You used an unnessecary spell and aimed it for her face?”

Delrin knew this was it. Years of training wasted because his mind had been clouded by her. “The Dalish never ventured too close to Denerim. I wasn’t used to it, is all, and as I said, it surprised me.”

“Consider this a warning, Ser Barris. Luckily, no one saw this event take place. If it gets out that Templars are flinging spells and knocking the Inquisitor down, needless to say that it won’t be good. Do not forget that there are mages here, and they are free to roam where they so please.” He shifts his gaze to his paperwork, quill out and scribbling against the parchment before moving to the next one.

“That’s…it? I’m not in trouble? No -”

Cullen glances up and releases a pent up sigh, fingers pinching the bridge again. “Inquisitor,” he stresses out, “Lavellan took full blame. Do…do try and be careful, though. As badly as we need the Templars, you need the Inquistion far more.”

Ser Barris gives one final salute at his words, watching the man dip his head down to continue reading another slip of parchment. It didn’t feel right, though, his mind struggling to understand the reprimand. “Commander, please let me atone for this.”

Cullen sighed and let the quill fall to the desk, his hand holding his head up. “I am not the Knight-Commander. I left the order. Do your atonement in the eyes of the Chantry.”

“Some form of punishment must be given. I struck a woman -”

Cullen bolted from his desk, fire in his eyes. “Fine! Take your ten best men and start repairs on the eastern tower. Leave. Now,” he growled out, fingers shaking.

Barris knew that shake. He gave the commander one look before saluting and rushing towards the door. The long walk back to the forward camp, he kept his mind focus on that one slight shake of fingers against wood.

By the time it took Barris to reach the forward camp, apologize to Mother Giselle, and rally up the ten Templars best suited for the task, Nirah had finished all of her own tasks. Rumors swirled of what exactly happened to her and Josephine was the one to put the fire out.

“Josie,” Nirah sighs, rolling her eyes and wincing. It still hurt despite the healers best efforts. The bruising was gone, thankfully, but the soreness would remain for the better part of the day. “I don’t see why you’re telling everyone I fell.”

They were walking through the training fields together, Josephine aiming towards the tavern to discuss the barkeep’s increase of ale and mead deliveries. Nirah had a feeling it had to do with The Chargers who had taken up residency there. Josephine shushes her and darts her eyes around. “Better you fell and landed on a rock than struck with a spell on the grounds.”

But Nirah didn’t hear her. Or, if she did, she hadn’t bothered to respond. Her eyes are focused on the battlements, watching the group of men and women working together. Her eyes focuses on Delrin, watching him move rock away, taking the lead, directing where to the move rocks and debris. “That’s nice, Josie. Excuse me,” she mutters, her gait widening as she bee-lined it for the stairs.

Nirah crosses the battlements with a mission on her mind. She moves out of the way from one Templar who proceeded to do a double take at her. Half of Nirah is furious; she specifically told Cullen not to reprimand Delrin. The other half is intrigued at how he worked, how his body moved like it was trained to do grunt labor, at how he put himself at the front doing the heaviest of lifting. She holds out her hand, pressing it against a woman’s shoulder to rebalance her, patting it once she gets a better hold of the broken stone.

“Ser Barris?” Nirah calls out, turning to let another man pass by her.

“Inquisitor!” he shouts, dropping the stone from his grip and watching her bruise free face light up with a smile. He feels his tongue thicken and dry, suddenly very aware of his missing tunic. The Templars he had brought slow to a crawl, watching with simple curiousity at the two. He moves from looking at her and looking at them, brow tightening and hearing their snickering as they rush away. “What - that is - its not safe.”

“Delrin,” she teases out, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. His fingers twitch at that action, remembering how just that morning he had done the same. “I went through much worse at Haven.”

He nods and hears the footsteps of the Templars coming back. “Maker, Ser Barris,” one of them sighs out, glancing at the Inquisitor before directing his gaze back. “Are we going to get a break?”

“Break? Break! Oh! Break, right.” He sweeps a hand over his head, pushing the sweat from his brow back. “I suppose enough work has been done that we can head -”

Another Templar, the woman who Nirah had assisted, chimes in. “You’re going to make us head back?”

Nirah turns on her heels, the most brilliant of smiles blossoming from her lips. “Josephine is in the tavern. Tell her I approved of your meals being served in the dining hall. If any nobles give you any lip, inform her.”

A muttering of approval came from the ten of them, a chorus of ‘Thank you, Inquisitor’ coming out next. The sound of their boots hitting stone, the sight of a few of them turning and giving Delrin thumbs up as she turned, the feeling that they were going to be alone and here he was, shirtless. All of his senses are working in overload, his heart quickening as he reaches for his tunic.

“Where did you get that?” she asks as she points to a scar just under his chest and across diagonally. He glances down and shivers at her finger just barely touching his skin. She takes a cautious step, eyeing him as her finger presses the taut flesh.

“A long time ago,” he muffles out, grabbing his tunic and tugging it on. “It - it doesn’t matter.”

“Are you alright?”

“It’s inappropriate, is all. Seeing a person without their -”

“They all saw you with your shirt off. How am I different?”

Delrin wishes to swallow his tongue in that moment. Her eyes - Maker, he never wanted to stare into a different set. If he could have, he would stare into them for eternity. A gust of wind into Skyhold forces her bangs to blow in her face, her smile growing, her chuckle dancing on the wind and into his ears. His heart thumps against his chest and he lifts a hand to press the hair back to its rightful place.

Softer than he remembers the strands being. “I suppose it’s because they are my brothers and sisters.” When his fingers brushes against her temple, she flinches.

“Still sore,” she whispers out, her own heart beating like a drum. She could have danced to the beat that it sounds like in her ears. “Should be fine by -”

“I still can’t forgive myself for doing that. I apologize, again.”

She grasps his wrist, pulling his hand down, her fingers feeling his pulse - just as fast, if not faster, than her own. “Delrin, I said it was fine. Nothing more than time and perhaps a kiss will fix. Now, what are you doing up here?” His eyes were still locked on hers, his tongue still thick and dry. Kiss? he thought. Her words broke the repeating ‘kiss’ in his mind. “I told Cullen not to reprimand you.”

“He didn’t. I forced him to give me some form of punishment.”

She laughs, her head wavering back and forth as she dips her chin down. Delrin feels his heart snap at losing her sight but when she looks back up, it’s mended anew. He swallows, tongue darting between his lips to wet them.

“Are you free tonight?” she questions, taking a small step closer. Her hand that held his wrist drops, feeling his fingers twitch, feeling the spaces between open to accept her own fingers. “For an evening meal?”

He breathes out and swallows, taking his own step closer. He thinks of a small prayer, begging for Andraste to preserve his soul for the fury about to happen. Without thinking, he presses his lips on the tender spot just between her eyes, kissing the area longingly before pulling away.

“I shouldn’t,” is all he says before releasing her, turning from her and moving fast to flee and leaving Nirah standing there dumbfounded.


	5. Part Five

He goes back to the tower after midday meal. The rest of the Templars teased him when he came to the table looking flushed. He blamed it on the sun, on the heat, on anything but her. Still, he heard the muffled comments, ‘Whatever you say, Ser. The Inquisitor did look quite beautiful,’ or even worse, ‘She looked like she was ready to pounce.’ But the one that drove him wild in jealousy and rage was a simple, ‘Wouldn’t mind her coming to my tent tonight.’

He has no right to get jealous, or so he thinks. Standing there and heaving rocks, Delrin has the perfect view of most of the courtyard and training field of Skyhold. And he watches her - he watches her move with such intent at the way her fingers twist in the air next to the Commander. He watches him laugh by her side, watches his eyes light up when she stops walking and makes a huge explosion in the air with her hands. He watches her laugh back.

He sees Cullen glance up towards him, the bright golden eyes darkening as the sun began its descent from its peak. The Commander is furious at him, that much Delrin knows. But it wouldn’t hit him until Nirah waves a hand in front of Cullen’s face and turns to see what he's looking at. She smiles and waves towards Delrin, and he can hear the Templars’ laughs surround him. He gives a polite wave back and set back off to work.

It wasn’t until sunset has begun that he dismisses the other Templars. He is proud of the work done, the tower cleared of all debris. It would be of good use for whatever Nirah will decide to put there, he thinks. Plenty of room up and downstairs. Perfect vantage point of Nirah’s quarters. He flinches at that thought and makes his way out of Skyhold. He needs to be away. Needs time to reflect and pray.

He’s stopped by a figure standing at the stairs, arms crossed, the fur around his neck fluttering in the wind. “Good work today, Ser Barris,” Cullen mutters out, turning his head slightly to catch Delrin’s gaze. “The Inquisitor wishes to speak with you prior to you returning to the forward camp.”

Delrin feels his stomach twist, his muscles ache. “Of course, Commander Rutherford,” he manages to say, feeling the gaze from Cullen turn worse.

“I wanted to speak to you, as well. Earlier. I have a few missions for you and your Templars. Can’t have you just do grunt work.”

Delrin turns completely to face Cullen, brow knotted tight together. “Of course, Commander. All of us are more than willing to help the Inquisition, whatever it may be.”

“Good. I’ll run it by our Ambassador and Spymaster, then. The Inquisitor should be waiting for you by the throne.”

Without another word, Cullen turns away from Delrin and makes his way towards his office. The energy surrounding the Commander was familiar to Delrin, he knew it before. He felt it just hours prior. Jealousy. It is a feeling that Delrin doesn't enjoy. It's something that he shouldn’t even feel. She wasn’t his. She wasn’t anyones. His steps down were heavy, each one calculated and timed.

Jealousy - it toys at the back of his mind and he stops on the bottom step, flinching at the thought. He wouldn’t fall for that demon of a feeling. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Delrin took faster steps now, the crunch of dead grass surrounding him. He had to straighten it out between him and Nirah. Make it clear that there could be nothing, nothing at all, between the two of them. He had to focus on the Templars who look up to him. He had to focus on making the Order true again, making them into what they were prior to corruption and deceit and lies.

He stops when he enters the great hall, eyes peering at the Inquisitor’s throne and not seeing her there. That jealous feeling is replaced in mere seconds with confusion, and hurt, and worry. His stomach twists and turns, and he glances at the Dwarf sitting at the large wooden table, scribbling on any parchment he can get his hands on. “She’s downstairs, Templar,” he mutters towards Delrin, eyes never looking up. “Told me to tell you. Through that door, down the stairs, and into the vault room.”

Delrin blinks and takes one step towards the door that the Dwarf pointed. “I should just wait up -”

Varric sighs and places the quill into the inkpot, brushing back loose strands of hair. “No, she said for you to be directed down there. I’ve got work to be done so off you go,” he manages to say before adding a short wave with both hands. “If you wait, you’ll be waiting for hours.”

Delrin nods, whispering a thank you before making his way towards the door that Varric had pointed to. He turns and saw him shaking his head, picking the quill back up and tapping it against parchment. He already hears voices echoing from down the steps and moves to follow them.

“Really? You expect me to make my home down here?” a male voice had muttered out.

“You said you wanted to be away from the crows.” Nirah’s voice. His heart pounds at the sound of it.

The male voice groans out and the closer Delrin walks, the better he can make it out. “I figured you’d move the birds, though. I like that library.”

The sound of her giggling makes his heart spin in his chest and Delrin has to stop and stare into the open door of the dustiest library he had ever seen. The mage, Dorian he remembers, looks flustered at her laughter. “Dorian, you can go ahead and try to convince Leliana to move her birds, or you can settle down here. Or, and this is the best option I think, you can learn to deal with them.”

“I’ll speak to her, just watch me.” Delrin feels a hot flash of jealousy rage through him when he sees the mustached man raise his fingers and squeeze Nirah’s nose. “Good night then, I suppose! Shame you won’t reconsider my offer.”

Nirah turns and watches Dorian leave, a smile on her face as her eyes line up with Delrin’s. “Sorry, Dorian. Remember, us Dalish like to keep our herbs growing.”

“Mm, yes. I’ll remember that the next time you need a massage!”

She laughs as he makes his way up the stairs, turning away from Delrin to readjust the books. “You could have come closer. Dorian doesn’t bite.”

He takes a few steps, readying himself to tell her but watching her push her hair out of her face and watching her turn towards him…he couldn’t. The air fled from his chest in a desperate gasp before he moves closer. “I wasn’t going to intrude.”

“It’s alright. Dorian prefers intrusions. Says it gives him a chance to shine.” She rolls her eyes and scoffs. Nirah moves past him in the circular room, still well within his reach, tucking a book back into its place, the buildup of dust leaving a mark. “I wanted to thank you, actually.”

Delrin swallows again, worried she was going to mention the peck he had given her. He wasn’t sure why he had done it. He had felt the need to and watching her eyes that entire time…

Maker, he wouldn’t be able to look at her now. “Thank me?” he asks, turning when she turns to lift up a book, busy himself, do anything but look at her.

“For clearing the tower. I was curious, too.” He hums and glances at her and when he goes to turn away, his eyes are still fixated on her. He drops the book down and turns completely to face her now.

“Of…of what?”

“What should I use it for?” The tilt of her head, the way her hair tumbled around her shoulders, the sparkle in her eye in the soft glare of firelight.

“Kiss…” he whispers, eyes trailing from hers down to her lips. Colored with balm, the faint shine glimmering as the light bounces, he wants exactly what he had spoken. To kiss them? To actually feel them against his own, to feel the bottom lip quiver as he presses his to hers? He would have given anything.

Nirah blinks and recoils back some, that one word like a blast of warm air to fight the chill creeping up her back. “Kiss?”

He doesn’t waste time. He won’t.

Delrin closes the gap between them, taking her head in his hands and pressing his lips to hers. Nirah gasps at first, the breath stolen from her as he presses deeper into the kiss. But her eyes had fluttered shut before his lips even caressed hers. A tug of a smile and her hands are against his chest, pressing his pecs with little force, allowing the tips of her fingers to feel his muscles, to feel his heart reverberating.

Delrin tilts his head to the side, pushing harder, deeper into the kiss. She tastes like a strange mixture of honey and lemon, of warm tea with a touch of sweetener, of pure bliss in a kiss. He doesn’t stop until he hears the thunk of her body against the shelves, until the smell of dust and stale air overcomes her own scent, until he hears a soft purr from the back of her throat and he responds in earnest, opening his own mouth to just have a small taste, a sip of her to hold him over.

He’s drunk off of that one kiss. Drunk and wanting more. A sip? He needs the entire cup of her and more. More…

When he feels Nirah’s hands move up, nails grazing the scruff on his chin, he pulls back like being awoken from a blissful night’s rest, eyes wide and staring down in awe at what he had done.

Delrin’s ready to reprimand himself until he sees her smile, until he sees the lashes float effortlessly up, until he sees the amount of happiness in her eyes. He’s still holding her head and tilts his forehead down to press against hers, muttering a prayer under his breath.

She speaks, calm and quiet, as if to match the whispers of his own, “I…I suppose we could use the tower…for that.”

He stops the prayer midway, a breath of a laugh escaping his lips. “Maker forgive me, Nirah, I hadn’t…I didn’t…”

She hushes him and lifts her head up to press her lips against his. Just as fast as they were there, they were gone. Her eyes no longer sparkling, her words cutting him deep, the smile long gone from her face. “Then you didn’t.”

He flinches at her words. He watches her move from his grasp, under his arm and towards the desk. He can see her knees tremble, see her hands busying themselves. He watches her in wonder. “I didn’t?”

“If you say you didn’t mean to, then you didn’t. We can pretend it never happened.” Her fingers move across the page of the dusty old tome, tracing over ancient lines of text. She pauses, tilting her head slightly to the side, enough that her hair moves out of place.

“I only meant that I didn’t mean to offend you. Or cross a line. Or - or - Maker,” he groans, hands covering his face. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Like I said -”

He grasps at her hand and pulls her away from the tome, watching her eyes dance up to meet his. “I don’t…want that.” He sighs and lets her hand go, fingers tickling at her palm before they curl, nestling between his fingers.

“Will you tell me what you do want? Because denying a meal with me and replacing it with a kiss is quite confusing.”

Her words are clear to him. He wants her. All of her. Her lips, her smile, the brightness in her eyes, the crinkling of her nose, her hair, the way she curls tight against his body. He knows that he can’t have her. He knows that having her would open too many doors - doors that were meant to remained lock. His stomach twists as her head tilts again, chin pointing up, expecting something…anything.

“Come…come to my tent tonight.”

Nirah blinks, her mouth falling open and her brows shot up her forehead. “I’m a bit astonished at how fast this is progressing.”

“I don’t mean for - by Andraste, Nirah.” She laughs, echoing in the small library, surrounding him with the music of it. She sucks in a breath, fingers pressed against her lips as she watches him strain from laughing with her.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters out through strained giggles. “Why -” She clears her throat, fingers falling as she composes herself the best she can. “Why to your tent?”

Delrin didn’t want to tell her the reason why. The real reason why. He knew if they remained here in sight of any single one of her Inner Circle members, she would be whisked away from him. Especially by the Commander. He felt a stab in his chest at the thought of her laughing with him openly on the training field. His mind was a maelstrom of jealousy and he fought it with every drop of integrity he could spare.

“It’s…private? Maker,” he mutters and turns away from her, eyes searching to busy themselves for anything but -

“Alright, then.”

He blinks, the dust must have fogged his ears and he mentally berated himself that dust doesn’t do that to ears. “Alright?”

She nods and places her hands at her waist, glancing once around the room. “I had meant to clean it up down here, see if we could get some of these books restored. It can wait.”

“But -”

She’s already making her way past him, her hands locked behind her as she moves out of the ancient library. He follows behind, a lost puppy finding a new master. A kitten in search of love and attention. Anything but a Templar falling for a mage’s wiles. Delrin feels a shooting pain in his mind, erasing the thought as quickly as it had come, forgetting it in the moment she walked up the stairs and through Skyhold.

Their walk is silent towards the stables. The sun had kissed the clouds good night and was drifting lower and lower in the sky, hiding behind the looming mountains. It wouldn’t be long until the stars came out in a blanket of beauty and he would be with her when it would happen. Delrin’s heart quickened as she trots ahead of him on her hart, her eyes focusing on the path ahead. He sees a door swing open on the battlements and doesn't wait to see who it was.

He doesn't care in that moment. All what concerns him is how she looks ahead of herself, eyes focusing on where she needs to direct her mount to go. Across the bridge, down the steep path, neither saying a word to the other until they reach the forward camp and the banners of the Order of Templars wave in the wind. He waits for her to dismount, handing the reins off and strolling through the camp as if she practically owned it.

He follows her movements, hearing the Templars hum in approval. He glances at a few, watching them duck into their tents. “Delrin,” she says, loud enough for a few of the Templars to linger and listen. “Do all of them sleep here?”

“Every single one who came with me from Theirinfa -”

“And there’s no room in Skyhold?” she speaks over him, turning just before his tent. She’s pouting and frowning all in one, her eyes shimmering with concern. The moon was just rising, the dance of purples and pinks in the sky above them.

“From what I was told, rooms were being cleared and would be filled up for nobles.” He wants to add ‘and mages’ but bit his tongue. He needn’t start a fight that would only deepen the wedge between Templars and mages.

“And that tower?”

“Commander Rutherford asked me to clear it, is all.”

She nods and enters his tent, stretching her arms up and flexing the muscles. He follows, turning to tie the door close and catches the Templars poke their heads out from their own tents, grinning like fools - every single one of them. He shakes his head and ties faster, and faster, fumbling the knots when he hears his bed creak.

When Delrin stands and turns, he sees her sprawled out like a cat, one arm resting where he had lain just last night. Her boots were already free, kicked off at the foot of his bed. He steps closer, nerves rattling his mind as he sat at the edge. Her hand grasps his and tugs once, smiling at him. “I promise,” she whispers in a haze of sleep, “just cuddling.”


	6. Part Six

Days went passing by and he would only be able to feed the hunger of his growing affections with nothing more than a glance, a smile, a slight bob of the head from her. Nirah would be off, leading the Inquisition with purpose, making herself the beacon in the surrounding darkness. She would come back to Skyhold as he would leave, prepared for another mission rounding up Venatori with Cullen’s men in tow.

The moments they could get together were spent innocently enough. She would sit on his bed, curled up in the blankets, her feet in the air, with a book on the Chantry - the Chantry of all things! - in her grasp, thumbing through the pages and asking simple questions. He warned her a multitude of times that he would never try and convert her. Stern, fierce, and he watched the curve of her smile grow, the harshness of his look softening. She teased that he could try and when his words began to stumble together she laughed it off easily enough. She only wanted to learn.

When the weather wasn’t a blustery cold, they walked amongst the forward camp, out into the woods where Nirah was most comfortable. She moved around the trees with expertise, the finesse over upended roots and fallen logs fascinating to Delrin. She would pause and turn, lean against a tree and wait for him, eyeing where his foot was placed and shaking her head when a log would wobble, giggling.

It wasn’t until a month had passed of their little get togethers that people began to notice. Whispers echoed in the halls and Nirah had ignored every single one of them, even from her own circle. The meetings that Delrin had with Cullen were the most awful times he had ever dealt with. Jealousy raged deep within the Commander’s mind. And Delrin had no right to complain.

There were times he saw the Commander and Nirah together. Leaning in, laughing, smiling, a caress of his hand against her arm as he led her inside Skyhold. As he led her away from him. And the fire he felt worsened every single time he saw those actions. It heated his belly, made his mood sour towards his brothers and sisters, it made him pray more than when he was still a recruit.

“You’re drifting away again,” he hears her whisper and Delrin shakes away his thoughts. He turns towards her and gives her a reserved smile.

‘End it today,’ the words eat at his mind. ‘This can’t keep going on.’ Oh, but if it could…

“A lot on my mind, is all.” Nirah hums and leans forward, tilting her head to look up at him. “No,” he chuckles, “I do not wish to burden you with them.”

She hums and lifts the massive book once more, turning a page and tapping her fingers against it. “You never did tell me what part of the Chant is your favorite.”

Delrin adjusts the sword in his hand, eyeing down the blade at the level of sharpness. If people only knew what they did in this tent, those rumors would be silenced. This place was a separate sanctuary for her, a place where people knew where she was, who she was with, but would never intrude. The nights she stayed, she would keep her word true. Their clothes would always remain on, arms tangling around each other, her hand resting over his heart and his brushing back her hair. Maker, did he want it to go further, but he would never allow it. He knows what that would cause.

“I don’t have a favorite verse,” he finally says, placing the sword back in its sheath and resting it against the wall. He lifted the shield up next, frowning at the dents and scars in the metal. “As a Templar, you should love all of it.”

She laughs and taps the book again, her eyes focusing on him. “Yes, but is there a verse you know better than the rest?”

“Ah, no? Is there a reason for this?” he asks, turning his head and watching her. He blinks at the book she’s holding. It was familiar to him, seeing it a few times in Denerim. “Is that -”

“Hm? Oh. It’s an old version of the Chant of Light.” She lifts her knees and turns the book upright, showing him the battered front. “I was going to give it to…well, someone who knew more about it to transcribe it.”

“There’s a copy of it in Denerim’s Chantry. At least when I was there. I wonder how different the two are.” Nirah grins and leans forward, shutting the book in the process.

“You know, I’ve never actually been to Denerim. How is it? After the Blight -” He flinches and grips the leather on the inside of the shield. He runs his tongue against his teeth, the words failing to come out. Nirah’s quiet and watches him. She had been so careful not to mention his past, no matter how curious she had been. She mumbles an apology and moves the book to the bed, standing and straightening her tunic. “I should probably head back.”

Her steps are fast, the tips of her toes on the ground, and he grabs at her arm with one quick hand, pulling her back into him. She gasps and collides against him, her balance off center from the pull. “I left…when I left, it was…well, in utter destruction.”

His words are soft, old wounds reopening, scabs being picked at again and again until the flesh is red and raw and bleeding. “Delrin, you don’t have to say anything. Forget I mentioned it.”

“I remember the streets were red and black and ashen. I remember…it was a beautiful city.”

Nirah’s teeth gnaw at the inside of her bottom lip, afraid to speak now as his eyes shut, as his fingers dig into her bicep. “Delrin?” she whispers when he’s silent for too long.

“You should go.”

Nirah blinks at the words, goes to pull away but his grip is too tight. “I…I can’t if you’re holding me like this,” she tries to joke and sees his face tighten.

His eyes bolt open and turns towards her, shaking his head. “I meant to Denerim. You should go. To Denerim. I - I fear I cannot do it justice.”

Her fingers are curling into each other, gripping between the cracks. She glances at the ground, nodding her head, refusing to speak anymore words, swallowing them without a second chance. She wouldn’t let them out. When she felt the grip around her muscle soften, she looks up, his brows pointed down, the crease between his eyes deepening. Nirah blinks and smiles, brightness filling where sadness once loomed. “Yes?”

“Are you alright?”

“Are you?”

Delrin tilts his head and releases her arm completely, the hand curling into a loose fist. “I’ll be fine. Maker knows, I’ve gone through this before.”

Nirah swallows her words again, but still they come flooding out, pouring from her lips with no filter. “You don’t have to go through it alone, Delrin. I…I can be there for you.” She pauses and her head tilts down, whispering, “I want to be there for you. If you want, as…whatever you need.” She looks up at him, wondering if the words she had said reached him, wondering if she had expressed what she wanted.

Images of her, but not truly her, explode in his mind. Of her and him kissing again, and he wishes it were real. He wishes he could feel her lips again without worry, without fear. The jealousy tickles at the back of his mind. He rarely saw her as is. Would he be able to stand being apart for so long? Would he be able to stand knowing that she would be laughing with others? With Cullen? He tastes bile at the thought.

“Delrin?” she says, her voice breaking the monotony of his own mind. “Delrin, I - I care -”

“Please do not say that.”

Nirah leans back, eyes wide as his clamp shut. “I can’t say that I care for you?”

He cringes and twists away from her. Away from her temptation. Away from her bringing such simple joy to his life, away from her. “My heart,” he breaks out, sucking in a breath and shuddering at the look of her eyes. “My heart is with Andraste, Inquisi -”

“But it wasn’t for her.”

Delrin turns and sees the way her eyes had changed. “What?” he croaks.

“You turned your back on the Chantry, on the Order, for her. Before. But you won’t for me? You are the one who kissed me, Delrin, the one who invited me down here.”

He opens his mouth, reaches for her. He never meant for this. He never meant for the tears to start streaking over her cheeks. “Nirah, I’m sor -”

“Why? Why not me? Are you afraid that I’d replace her? Are you afraid that I’m going to die?”

He shakes his head, shoulders hunched as his hands shake to touch hers. She yanks them away, taking a step back. “Maker, no! I - It’s not right. It’s - it would look terrible! Think of the implications alone of a Templar and -”

“Fuck the implications. I’m my own person, Delrin. I thought you of all people would know this?”

“I do!”

“Then why, and be honest with me, is it that I cannot care for you? Why must I hold back on my feelings?”

Delrin steps away from her, hand over his forehead as he looks around. Could he tell her? Should he tell her? How could he tell her that a monster has been living inside of him since the day she walked into his tent bleary eyed and tired? How could he tell her that the fear of her being hurt by anyone or anything physically made him sick? That the thought of loving her, of caring for her, of his past repeating made him pray until his throat was sore, until his mind was nothing but a scoop of jelly?

“Do you even care for me?” she snaps, fingers wiping at her cheeks. Even in here, even with him, she hates showing weakness, showing fear.

“I don’t -” he stammers out, still reaching for her. His words fail him as he stumbles and trips, blinking back his own tears.

“Good bye, Delrin,” she cuts him off, silencing the uttering of words, backing away with wide steps and turning on the balls of her feet.

He reaches for her hand, yells after her, “Nirah, wait!”

And he’s behind her, watching her move with -

Templars stir in their tents, the ones outside stopping and twisting their head around and the pull of magic, the chill growing in the air as she used it to move away faster than he could keep up. The way she used it, the way it tingled in the air and trailed behind her…he could feel the lyrium boil inside of him. Delrin stops, watching her race away, the pain in his heart almost unbearable.

He avoids Skyhold for weeks.

The few times he is there, the few times that he thinks she is gone, she is there. Her smile isn’t as bright, her laughter is quiet, and her eyes - Maker, drag him through the worst of the world - are filled with bitter sadness. Delrin hears the quiet comments coming from Cole, muttering how she lost some of her light, how she misses the touch, misses the warmth.

Delrin is unsure of what the boy means when he hears it, ignores it the best he can until he feels the piercing ice eyes on his back. Delrin turns, his feet squishing the mud, the sound of it making him sick. “Yes?” Delrin asks, watching the hat give a slight bounce.

“You’re kind. Kinder than the others. I watched you, the way you fought. Is it always so hard?” Cole’s voice is quiet, no louder than a murmur, his fingers twisting about and around each other.

Delrin glances around, people moving by like there was nobody there. “Is what hard?”

“Fighting. Always fighting. Do this, not that. But you want to do that, not this.”

Cole kicks a stone, knocking it into the mud. Delrin feels the wave of unease that he had heard the other Templars discuss, that he had heard Madame de Fer moan about. “Sometimes it’s hard to do what is right over what you want.”

Cole lifts his head, the brim of his hat up in the air and revealing the sharp eyes once more. “But what you want is right. She agrees. Promises, promises. You hurt and she wants to help but you won’t let her. She hurts and you refuse to help her.”

“Cole, was it?” He waits for the…spirit…to nod. “Some things are just not meant to be helped.” Delrin bows his head, sets off to move. Cole moves with him, taking a step and bowing his head again, looking up when he moves in front of him.

“She helped.” Delrin sighs and sidesteps once more, up the steps from the courtyard to the training grounds. “She’s different than the rest, accepting and kind with spirit like fire. She would have been a good mother.”

Delrin whips around, finger pointed at Cole, eyes slit much like the dagger sitting sheathed on his hip. “That - that is. Do not mention that.”

“But it hurts! You won’t let the one heal you, but you’d let the other. Why?”

Delrin swallows his voice, shaking his head as he moves faster up the steps, faster away from the spirit. Madame de Fer’s voice is ringing in his ears, reminding him to avoid the so called spirit. “It’s of no concern to you.”

“But it is. Because she hurts. Her light isn’t shimmering like normal and she won’t let me help.”

“Maker’s breath. I have a meeting with Cullen. Could you just -”

When Delrin turns, Cole is already gone. Delrin blinks and furrows his brow, whether or not he was real dancing in his mind. A trick. Nothing more than a trick and nothing he says should be believed. Delrin moves faster, gripping the hilt of his sword as he races up the next flight of stairs. Meeting with Cullen and back to the forward -

He stops at the top of the steps, staring at the tower he had cleared so long ago. It looks different, vastly so from when he first saw it. He wants to go there, wants to see, but he turns away. Delrin repeats the mantra, over and over; meet with Cullen and back to the forward camp. Nothing but those two things.

He knocks on the door and waits for Cullen to grant him access. Delrin moves in, saluting and taking position just in front of the desk. “Commander.”

“Ser Barris. The reports on the Venatori are good. Your Templars, from what I’ve been told, have been able to quelch the attacks for the most part.”

Delrin nods his head, watching Cullen move a report to face him. He glances at the writing and recognizes it as his own. “Yes. I’ve been making sure to rotate them around as much as -”

The door behind him groans as it opens and both he and Cullen avert their attention to it. “Cullen! Did you see!”

She’s a sight for him, her energy returning to when she used to see him. Nirah glances at Delrin and practically squeals in excitement, grasping his hands and pulling him to the side door. “Nirah!” he hears Cullen shout, but he’s never been happier. He’s never felt more passion than in that moment with her.

“The tower! It’s been finished! Oh, wait until you see it!” She’s dragging him behind her, Delrin smiling - actually, truly, honestly smiling - as he follows her steps. She releases his hand and turns, pressing her weight into the door, her grin wild. “I wanted it to be a surprise but,” and she falters for a moment, the realization hitting her as she steps past the threshold, her smile fading fast.

“What?” Delrin moves closer to her. He didn’t care about the tower. For just a moment, he sees the light in her eyes again, the happiness again. The words the spirit had spoken to him bouncing around in his mind.

“It’s for you. Your Templars.” Nirah keeps her eyes on him. She had missed the way the green blossomed out and seeing it again was like spring on the horizon. “The entire tower is yours.”

Delrin’s mouth hangs open, rapid blinks his only response. “A tower? Nirah -” The light bounces in her eyes once again, her stomach curling in as she watches him say her name. He licks at his lips, her name coming through just after. “Nirah, it’s…this is…Are you sure?”

She wipes her hand against her face, laughing as she nods. “I - I interrupted your meeting. With Cullen.” Delrin watches her as she rushes to the door, the passion in her eyes dying. “Enjoy, Ser Barris.”

He refuses to let her leave. Seeing the briefest bit of her returning to normal…he needs to see more. He side steps into her, hands gripping her shoulders and giving them a slight squeeze, balancing her back. “Delrin,” he says, the pads of his fingers pushing into the muscles.

“What?”

“If I call you Nirah -”

It’s a bitter laugh he hears and it hurts more than he anticipated. Nirah remains quiet for a moment, her head tilting down, eyes shut to block the tears. “I should apologize.”

Her voice was small, nearly inaudible over the sounds of Skyhold. “You - you did nothing wrong. The fault is -”

She lifts her head, shaking it back and forth, the strands of hair shaping her face begging to be tucked back in place. “No, I shouldn’t have pushed. I should have -”

Delrin quiets her, cupping her face and pressing his forehead against hers, thumbs brushing the tips of her hair. He misses so much about her, too much to even begin to comprehend, to even begin to piece together. He never believed, even for a moment, that his heart would be mended so wonderfully. Much less it being from the Inquisitor.

He presses his lips to hers, feeling her muscles relax, feeling her hands hold his elbows. Her hands move up his arms, wrapping around his neck and hugging him close, losing herself in that kiss. Delrin releases her face and digs one hand into her hair, the thread holding her hair loosening and he realizes how he missed the feeling of her hair entwined in his fingers. His other hand presses the small of her back closer to him.

They could heal each other, help each other. Whatever she needs, he would give it if he could. He pulls from her lips, heavy breaths as his lips move to her cheek, to the side of her nose. Whispers of apologies flood from her mouth, Nirah’s hands warm against the skin of the back of his neck, the edge of his scalp.

The pair of them squeeze each other, embrace each other, and kiss again and again until their lips are flushed. Neither see Cullen standing at the door way, nor do they hear him step away with turmoil fueling his tear lined eyes.


	7. Part Seven

“Commander?” Cullen glances up from his seat, eyes flinching at the sight of the Templar. “You wished to speak to me?”

Cullen takes in a small breath of air, dipping his quill into the inkpot and leans back. He bit at his tongue as Ser Delrin Barris takes a seat in front of him. He could feel jealousy nipping at his words before he even spoke. “The Venatori that your Tempalrs have been fighting?” Without even waiting for a nod, Cullen continues, folding his hands on his desk and watching the man with intent. “They have lost ground.” He points at a missive - opened and rolling in on itself. “Spymaster Leliana informed me immediately.”

Delrin snatches the paper, eyes moving as he read the scribbled words. The Baron requesting their aid, armory in need of help. He swallows and looks at Cullen, seeing a mixture of emotions deep within them. “Shall I leave with them before dusk?”

“Ready your men, Ser Barris. I’ll see what help we can send you before you leave tonight.”

With one breath, Delrin stands, salutes and rushes away, feeling the burning eyes of the Commander on his back.

Delrin was perceptive, always was told that ever since he was a small child. Ever since he rushed to his mother’s skirts when his brother and his friends teased him. He could tell the mean ones from the ones who only wanted to laugh. He could tell which of his brothers and sisters got sick pleasure from watching mages curl in their robes when they walked pass. And he can very well tell that Cullen Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition Army, is a jealous, jealous man.

Not when it came to those who deserved honor; Commander Rutherford had made it clear to Delrin that he and his Templars are well deserved of everything they have achieved thus far. No, it was far more personal than that.

He moves through the tower allotted to them, placing his hands on the backs of those he wishes to join him, grasping their shoulders tight and giving them one nod. He needs his best; he would have taken all if given the chance but the Inquisition, he had to be sure to leave some behind. Down the steps he goes, through their quarters, hand reaching out, nodding and moving along. That was thirty men. He hears them scramble, gathering their items, whisperings of what was going on. Down another set of stairs, procuring a key from his pocket, and opening the door to his newly acquired private quarters.

“Boo.”

He turns fast, breathing a sigh of relief when he feels her fingers dance up to his neck, grasping a hold of him and kicking the door shut. “Maker, Nirah,” he whispers against her lips.

“You weren’t here for mid-meal. I had to eat it all without you,” she whispers back, never truly kissing him. He can taste the salt of cheese and the sweet essence of apples, the remnants of honey and tea sending him over the edge. His hands rest against her waist, trying to calm her, resist her. Thoughts of leaving for weeks, though, obscure his mind. 

With urgency he presses his mouth to hers, pushing her back and claiming that kiss. He hears her gasp when they’re against the wall with a thud and reels back for a moment.  
Images of Cullen come across his mind and just as quickly as he was to kiss her, he pulls away. “Ah - Andraste, Nirah. You shouldn’t be down here.”

“And why not? Worried?” she teases as she moves away from the wall, strolling through his room like every mid-day meal. She plants herself on his chair this time, crossing her legs and leaning back. “Or perhaps something’s -”

“I’m going to Val Colline. I leave tonight. Venatori are running rampant. I guess the men I sent have -”

Nirah bolts up and takes his hands in hers, squeezing the fingers tight. “Alright. No teasing, then.” And he sees her fighting a smile, he sees the worry deep within the blues of her eyes. He sees how she fights for the words to come out right. “You’ll,” and she pauses, licks her lips. “You’ll be alright, of course?”

And he smiles back at her, fingers brushing her cheek before placing his lips to her forehead. “Of course, I will.”  
Nirah nods and laughs, bitter and dry and wiping at her eyes. “Have you ever fought a Venatori?” Her words are short, moving across his room, her fingers trailing against his desk. “They’re vicious.”

“Yes. I know. Are you worried? I’ve left before.” He moves closer to her, reading her insecurity, her worry, her fear. “And I have fought them.”

She gives a smile, returning to the chair and tapping her nails against the wood. “Here I go, off to who knows where, facing who knows what, and I’m worried about you facing off some Ventori.” She breathes in, releasing a laugh while watching him move closer to her. “Look what you did to me. Turned me into a sniveling child.”

“I should be back before the month is over. You won’t even notice me gone with you going to clean up the Hinterlands.”

“Promise?”

Delrin laughs and leans against his desk, shaking his head. “Ah, Nirah. You may be a sniveling child but here I am more worried about what’s at Skyhold then the Hinterlands. Even the Venatori.”

She stands, her fingers brushing against his curled knuckles, brow tightening as she leans in. “Worried about what at Skyhold?” She tilts her head to catch his gaze, but he turns away. She can feel the heat coming off of his cheeks. “What at Skyhold? Did I miss something?”

“Someone, I suppose is the correct term.” When he looks back at her, Nirah’s smile is gone, the worry gone. All of it is gone and replaced with concern. “Nirah, it’s -”

“Tell me.”

Delrin licks at his lips, hearing the rattling of armor just above them. “It’s an assumption is all. Commander Rutherford. He…he seems to care for you quite a good bit.”

“Cullen? You’re worried about Cullen?”

“You seem to care for him, too.” Nirah blinks, reeling back from Delrin as she watches his eyes move to meet hers. He sighs and reaches for her hand, feeling the tense muscles. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you these past few weeks, months even. I’ve seen the way you look at him, too. There’s no denying that there’s something -”

“Delrin. Are you…serious, right now? You’re about to leave on a mission to face off who knows how many Venatori and you’re worried - no, forgive me, jealous - of what goes on between myself and Cullen?”

He runs a hand over the strip of his hair, bouncing between nodding his head and shaking it. “I’m sorry,” he whispers with a sigh.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about! Delrin, Cullen is my commander, he is my friend. Anything more than that is just friendly flirting that leads to nothing.”

“I suppose that’s where I am concerned. Are you sure that it’s nothing? On both sides?”

“Creators, Delrin,” Nirah sighs and moves away from him, turning on her heels. “If you’re that concerned about who I flirt with, perhaps you should allow me the freedom to say what I wish.”

Delrin pushes off his desk and reaches for her hand, but she pulls it away too fast. “You always have the freedom to say -”

“I care for you.”

And she watches him tense, she watches his head twist away and she shakes her own. “Nirah,” he whispers and reaches for her again. “It’s not -”

“I care for you, Delrin. Nothing you say is going -”

“I’m not sure I can do this again, Nirah.”

And she freezes, her bottom lip hanging open as she watches him. “What?” she barks in a whisper.

Delrin shakes his head and looks at anywhere but her. “I’m not sure if I can care like that again. I don’t - especially because - Maker.”

“I cannot believe you. Delrin, you are the one who… You - is it because of the flirting?”

“What? No! I mean, it bothers me, yes, but that’s not - By Andraste, Nirah.”

She twists away, shaking her head as she aims for the door. “Would you care to explain all the flirting on your end then? All the kisses, all the nights we spent together?” She curls her fingers up, fists resting against her sides. “Or were they meaningless?”

“No! I just -” And he feels his stomach twist like a knife being stabbed watching her back tremble. Again, he did it to her again. “Listen to me. I just don’t want you to wait for me to be ready again. I don’t -”

Nirah turns to look at him, watches him with tears filling her eyes. “I wish you would just tell me, believe in me at least.” She opens the door to his quarters and walks through it, holding the handle tight in her hand. “Be safe, Ser Barris.”

-

“Inquisitor, are you sure about this?”

Nirah holds her chin in one hand, supporting it with the other. She nods and points at the figure of the stone lion’s head. “What can we do to make this easier for Ser Barris? Leliana?”

“Give the word and I’ll send a raven to pick up information on their defenses. If it’s the armory they’re aiming for, then they intend to stay.” Nirah watches her Spymaster place both hands on the war table, overviewing the map with knowing eyes. “It will take time, though.”

“Time that my men could be marching with the Templars, Inquisitor. We have people to spare. The newer soldiers need more time in the field and with so many Templars going, I have faith that they will be safe.” Nirah turns to face him, watching his eyes shift away from her. Did he know of the two of them? Her stomach does a flip at the thought of Cullen actually meaning any of his flirting.

“Templars are of no use without lyrium. Our stock is running low, Inquisitor, and the Templars refuse to partake in anything that is smuggled. A simple slip of the coin and I’m sure we -”

“Have the Templars not been through enough, Ambassador, that we must make a mockery of their beliefs?” Cullen snaps, turning to face the Antivan woman.

“All what I am suggesting is that we place our smuggled lyrium with a shipment from the Chantry. It has all been tested, of course, by a number of willing parties!”

“Dagna can test the lyrium when it gets here. Give the Templars our remaining stock and some from my own personal store.”

“And the mages, Inquisitor?” Leliana chimes in, shifting her weight from left to right, waiting for Nirah’s response.

“Are they on a mission?” Leliana shakes her head, the corner of her lip rising up. “They’ll be fine for a few days without. The Templars will not. Have your raven sent out immediately and Cullen, prepare your men please. I want them leaving with the Templars.” Nirah pauses and swallows a breath, watching their faces. When they nod, she releases a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, her shoulders slumping as they move past her.

He moves behind her as she turns, tapping her shoulder as the other two women leave, their growing smirks the last thing Nirah sees before turning completely around to face Cullen. “You’re doing better,” he says with a large smile.

“With the way you three interrogate me every meeting, I don’t feel like that’s happening,” she laughs out, brushing her hair away from her face with one swoop of her hand. “I didn’t want to ask in front of them, but,” she trails off, twisting away from Cullen and moving closer to the table, picking a piece up and placing it down where Val Colline was written.

“But?” he responds, moving to the table, watching her place a lion’s head statue on the city.

“Along with the newer members, send one of your best officers.”

Cullen swallows, staring down and watching her face turn sullen, she squeezes her middle with one arm, not even bothering to turn and look at him. “May I ask what for?”

“I want to be sure that your troops will listen to Ser Barris. Having a high ranking officer there, listening and following orders, the troops should fall in line far easier.”  
“I’ll see what I can arrange, of course, Inquisitor. There are a few who just came back and are more than willing to help our cause. After I speak with them, do you,” and Cullen waits to see her turn and look up at him, watching her eyes dim. She had lost some life to them, gained it back, and lost it all over again. “Are - are you, alright?” he whispers, knowing Leliana, she would be hanging just close enough to hear.  
“Worn, I suppose.” She fakes a smile, her bottom lip pulling in just a hair and twisting away from him to gather her reports. “You were saying something before?”

“If you’re worn, perhaps you should delay heading to the Hinterlands. Scout Harding can go in your place, I’m sure.”

She waves a hand in front of his face, her smile still there until he grabs her wrist, pulling it down. “Cullen, honestly -”

And her smile starts to waver looking into his eyes. Not green, but gold, and she misses the spring coloring so much. She misses the way his face would crease when he smiled at her just before planting a kiss with his irresistible lips. She misses the way his hands felt on her skin. She steps back, a dry laugh coming from deep within, shaking her head again.

“Are you alright?” Cullen questions, releasing her wrist as she takes another step back.

“I’m,” and she sits and thinks of his words for a moment. Delrin cares for her, she knows it, but she cannot keep waiting for him to flail one way and go the other. She looks at Cullen once more, another dry laugh escaping her lips. “I’m fine. I suppose one day won’t hurt. You were saying? Before?”

“I think a real meal will do you well, Nirah. Would you join me?”

Nirah nods and smiles, twisting away from Cullen so he wouldn’t see the tears forming along her lashes. “I’d like that. Dinner then? My quarters? After reports are taken care of.” She’s moving faster, opening the door and waving a hand behind her. “See you then!”

He waits for her to open the other door, watching her form quicken to move past Josephine. He breathes in, leaning against the table for a moment before pushing off and collecting his own reports. Cullen laughs silently, shaking his head as he moves out of the war room. Part of him expected her to say no.

Images of her and Ser Barris kissing had flooded his mind for weeks. He was angry at the man - no, that’s putting it lightly. He was at first, enraged. He had nearly sent Ser Barris off and away to the farthest reaches he could think of. A mission he would have never returned from. But he didn’t. He knew how wrong it was to feel how he did. He expected Nirah to have suitors lining up from the day Josephine sent her letters to all the dignitaries. Perhaps she is just good at hiding their interests, he thinks as he walks by her. And he knows how good of a Templar that man actually is. It would be a far greater loss to the Inquisition. Swallowing his pride as he moved through the throne room and aiming for outside, he keeps his mind focus until he sees him. Ser Barris preparing his mount, stroking the horse’s muzzle once with that same sad look that Nirah had just moments ago.

A good man, Cullen thinks and moves faster, avoiding the Templar the best that he can. A good man, a good soldier, a good Templar. And Cullen is jealous, envious of him. He pauses before reaching the stairs, foot digging into the gravel before spinning and gesturing towards a man not much older than he. “Ser Riley?” he calls out. The man turns and salutes at Cullen before crossing closer to him.

“Yes, Commander?”

“When have you last gone on a mission?”

Ser Riley thinks for a moment, pushing back his black hair lined with white. “Ah, just a week ago, ser? Do you need me to gather my things?”

Cullen glances at Ser Barris once, watching the stoic face peer upwards towards Nirah’s private quarters. “Yes,” he says through clenched teeth. “Go with Ser Barris, make sure our soldiers listen to him well. He will debrief you on anything you need to know.”

“Yes, ser.”

With a salute, the man was off smiling brightly, pride dripping from him. Cullen heard the whispers he spoke to the other men, his voice a bit too loud and a bit too enthusiastic. “I’m going with the Shield of Skyhold, can you believe it?”

Up above, Nirah clutches the railing to the balcony, watching Delrin look up. Her eyes hadn’t even noticed Cullen, focusing solely on him. She sniffles once, the back of her hand rising up and sliding under her nose. She whispers a prayer to the Creators, their names coming from her mouth like a waterfall. She breathes in and pushes from the balcony, stepping back towards her room as he mounts his horse.

Delrin watches her back, seeing her up there - so close yet so far away. He grips the reins in his hands, watching her back away, watching her turn and raise both of her hands to her face. Crying, he had made her cry again. He took a breath and faced forward. “Never again,” he whispers


	8. Part Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a NSFW chapter. Smutty smutty smut.

The moment he sees Skyhold in the distance, Delrin sets his horse in a brisk gallop. Three long, agonizing weeks were spent with nothing but Nirah on his mind. Screw the consequences, he had decided after the first week. Screw the Inquisition and the Commander, the second. The third he kept to himself, smiling at the thought of freely taking her in his arms and kissing her entire blushing face.

He dismounts before even pulling his horse to a stop, tugging the reins and thrusting them into a stable boy’s hands, smiling and thanking the lad. He moves through the grounds, aiming towards the stairs and staring up at the incoming night sky. Her balcony windows are left open, a sure factor sign that she was in.

He steals a breath when he reaches the top of the stairs, glancing towards the Templar tower. His brothers and sisters would want to see him, and the Commander would want the report soon if not immediately. Delrin takes in a steady breath and moves past the next set of stairs. Duty first, he thinks. Perhaps she’ll hear that he’s returned, a string of hope and faith that she did wait for him. Although, if she hadn’t, he wouldn’t be angry.

Delrin feels his stomach curl in on itself at the thought.

He’d go to Cullen first. No, he thinks. His quarters, then Cullen. Then Nirah. He refuses to let her go this time, refuses to make her cry again. It ate at him those three weeks to know that the last time he saw her, she had tears in her eyes.

He moves fast through the motions, removing articles of his riding armor before even setting foot in the tower. He hears his brethren wish him well, he hears them greet him and congratulate him and mumbles his thanks. He feels a hand against his shoulder and stops, turning to see a younger woman looking up at him. “Ser Barris?” she says, turning to look at the other Templars that had been left. “Just yesterday, I uh -”

He motions closer to the staircase that leads to his room, allowing her to follow him. “Did something happen?” Delrin asks, his voice dropping low.

“The Inquisitor, Ser, came by. I - I hadn’t meant to follow her, Maker forgive me, I was alone and heard someone walking and I thought that Elf from the tavern was planning a prank on you.”

Delrin holds up both hands, calming the girl. “Did the Inquisitor say anything to you?”

The girl bit at her lips, nodding her head. “Ser, I - I watched her go into your room. As she was leaving, I made myself known. She told me to tell you to go to her quarters when you were settled from returning. She won’t be mad at me, will she? For following her? She seemed upset.”

He smiles and shakes his head, patting the girl once more. “Go on, the last thing Inquisitor Lavellan would be upset about is you. Tell those lads to prepare the bunks; our brothers and sisters will be tired.”

The girl nods, a tentative smile blooming on her face and she moves back into the Templar’s quarters. Delrin sighs and strokes the scruff along his jaw and neck once before moving down into his own quarters. He tosses the armor down, his stomach a river in his body now. She was down in his room but the question that came to the forefront of his mind is what she was doing. He glances around; everything where he had left it. Perhaps it was just a habit? He turned towards the small hanging mirror on the wall, tilting his head one way and then the other. He snorts at his appearance - he needs rest.

But it could wait just to see her again.

He moves through Skyhold, a man on a mission. He doesn’t bother giving the Commander’s office a glance, he doesn’t bother stopping to see if her windows are still open in the growing night’s cold. He marches into the grand hall, his desire to see her, hold her, kiss her, love her like a bubbling cauldron. He moves past the guards who give him a double take, reaching towards him as he opens the door and shuts it on their faces.

Every step up to her chambers is agony to him. It would be the first time in her chambers, but certainly not the last if he has his way. Delrin breathes, his knuckles knocking against the heavy wood, hearing it echo in her room. What if she hadn’t meant to see him so late? He felt pinpricks on the back of his neck at the thought.  
He hears movement in her room and breathes when he hears feet against the floor. “Come in.”

The heavy wood creaks as he pushes it, staring up another set of steps to see if he can see her. Another round of creaking as he shuts the door, taking each step with caution. He can hear humming up the steps, stopping just shy of peering over at her. Delrin swallows his breath and watches her pace around her room in nothing but a nightgown, reading papers. Thin, billowing, hanging just off of her shoulders. “I said come -”

She stops and sucks in a breath as Delrin takes the final few steps until he reaches the top. He shifts to stand properly; tall, both hands ringing the other behind his back, chin pointed up if only to resist at the outline of her body. “Inquisitor,” he says, watching her mouth twitch to resist a smile.

“You came?” she says, hand falling to her side, papers still gripped tight.

Delrin nods once, eyes still focusing on hers. “You summoned me. Of course I came.”

She nods back and motions over to the free chair in front of her desk. “Sit, please.” As she turns, Delrin couldn’t resist watching the way her gown shapes her. He scolds himself mentally as he moves across her elegant room to sit in the chair she offered. 

“Is there a problem, Inquisitor?” He almost slips and calls her by her name, but he doesn’t know the meaning of this meeting. Maker does he want to let it slip and come out if only to watch her face as he speaks her name.

“Of course not, Ser Barris.” He nods at his name. So it was an official sort of meeting. “I had expected you tomorrow morning, is all.” Her hands move across her immaculate desk, fixing little nuances that he would never notice; a quill turned just a hair the wrong way, her letter box tilted wrong. He can see her trying to keep her calm, the air of serenity around her like a warm blanket. “I wanted to thank you, actually.” Her voice cracks a bit as she speaks to him, her eyes moving away from looking at the apple of his throat bobbing. “The mission you were sent on was quite a heady task.”

Delrin gives her a polite smile, trying his hardest to keep it reserved when he sees her cheeks darken. “That’s one way of saying it, your worship.”  
“Was it too much?”

She lifts her head, the tips of her nails dragging against the lacquered wood, locking her eyes on Delrin. “What?” he mutters. He had forgotten how truly blue her eyes were.  
“The…the Venatori? Was it too much?” Her bottom lip quivers when he leans forward.

Delrin shakes his head, still watching her. Her cheeks had gone from pink to red, and she tries to keep herself as centered and focused as she can possibly be. He reaches over the desk, his fingers feeling a slight static shock that courses from the tips of his fingers to his wrist. He knows that he should pull away. He doesn’t want to see her hurt anymore, he doesn’t want to see her sad and fighting a battle she would lose either way. With a flash of her eyes glancing down and back up at him, he makes up his mind. She moves her hand, but Delrin flexes his fingers, gripping her hand in his. “There is another reason I came the moment I could.”

Nirah leans forward, giving his grip some slack as she blinks and stares into his eyes. They had turned a bit darker, or perhaps it was a trick of the light. She licks at her lips, knowing he could feel her pulse quickening. “And?” she finally whispers out.

Delrin swallows, dipping his head low as he moves closer to her still, nearly rising up off of his seat. “I know we’ve had difficulties before, but, I care for you, Nirah.”  
She yanks her hand free, jolting up and standing, her chair scraping along the stone. Her fingers dig into her hair, pushing the bangs from her face. She sighs as she speaks out his name. “Delrin.”

He has a moment when his name comes from her lips - poison again, and Andraste help him he wants to drink it all. He stands, a hand extends out to her and takes a few steps until the fingers brush against the linen of her nightgown. “I’ve had time to think about it, Nirah.”

“To think about it?” she snaps, recoiling away from him. “You made your decision clear last time.”

He refuses to let her flee and moves closer to her. “It wasn’t a decision, Nirah. I was worried, for the both of us. Think about the position I’m in! I have Templars who look up to me, expect me to follow -” Delrin trails off, sighing, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter what they expect of me. Not anymore. In addition to that, however, your Commander, my commanding officer, has feelings for you whether you admit them or not.”

“And of my feelings?” she snaps back at him, lifting a hand to rest it on her brow. “Do they mean nothing in all of this?”

He flinches at the sharpness of her tongue. “You’re right. They mean everything in this and it was wrong of me to presume, no matter the nature of yours and his relationship, your feelings.” Nirah’s one arm curls around her middle, the other lifting up and giving a slight shake in the air before falling down to her side. “Have…have you done anything with him?”

“I cannot believe you are jealous over this.”

“You see him far more often -”

“I had meals with him, if you must know. Horrible, awful meals where all what I thought about was you. My entire brain was racked with you and what you told me.” She takes a breath and backs away from him, but never turning from him. “You were the one who told me not to wait. You were the one who told me you don’t care.”

“I never said I didn’t care. I do care! I care too much about you to put you through any sort of pain!”

She laughs and turns her head away from him, shaking it once. “That was a charming plan.”

He moves closer to her, reaching for her elbows and pulling her towards him. “Tell me right now that you have no feelings for me. Tell me and - and I’ll leave without a word.” He moves her closer still, seeing her face scrunch tight. “Tell me you care for him and I will never bother you.”

“I care for him, yes.” He loosens his grip, the pain swirling inside of his mind like a storm against a forest. “But I care for you far more than I could ever possibly dream.”

He pulls her back into his grip, tilting his head to catch her lips, pressing them more fervent than he intends. Her hand releases her and oh Maker, she grips his tunic tight, feeling his muscles beneath them. She pushes them up, releasing the shirt and resting her hands against his jaw, the scruff along his neck tickling the pads of her fingers. He presses deeper into the kiss, one hand holding her face steady, the other bunching her nightgown up, grasping the thin cloth.

She moans into the kiss, moving her body closer to him. He releases her gown and her face, both hands going to her rear and squeezing her, pushing her up into his grasp. Nirah pulls back from the kiss, eyes wide as she grasps onto his shoulders. He lifts her easier now, moving to the bed. He places her down, watching her tumble back into the bed, the blankets crumpling under her form.

Months of nothing more than kissing and chaste cuddling led to this point. Weeks of constant teasing, days of not seeing her, and more recently, weeks of not knowing whether she was curled in his Commander’s arms.

Delrin lowers himself over her, his tongue brushing her bottom lip until she opens her mouth, accepting the playful intrusion. He trails kisses away from her lips, along her cheek, closer to her ear and he’s shaking. Nirah presses her hands against his shoulders, gripping them to catch his attention, her breathing turning to a moan as he nibbles on the flesh just under the lobe of her ear, where her neck met her jaw. “Delrin,” she breathes out, raising her knees and forcing the gown to slide down, allowing him to move closer.

“Maker, Nirah,” he whispers, his lips moving closer to her neck, kissing and nipping, stopping for a moment to give one hard suck, loving the way she would inhale and grip him.

“We don’t have to do anything, Delrin,” she says, understanding his love for his order, for the Chantry. For his past lover. “You just being here is enough.”

He shakes his head and moves back to her lips, silencing any more words. His hands move to her knees, feeling the bareness and lets them slide down her thighs, pushing the gown down further. He breaks the kiss to pull it off of her, his eyes never leaving hers, watching the light return back to them from the first time he kissed her. Brighter, even. He pulls back from her, watching her cheeks turn crimson as he stands off of the bed.

“By Andraste, Nirah, you are -”

He admires her - every inch he can see. The smoothness of her muscles slowly fading away, the way her hair falls just over her shoulders, the longest strands tickling just above her breasts. Her breasts - oh Maker, he could stare at them for hours if given the chance. He lifts a hand and for a second she thinks he’s going to touch her and is saddened, but still happy, that he’s removing his shirt.

“I’m what?” she asks, biting at her lip and watching his own muscles. Delrin flexes under her gaze, watching her brows rise up with a smile.

“Beyond gorgeous.” He begins to unclasp his belt but stops, his smile fading as he stares at her. “Nirah, please tell me you want this.”

She sits up some, her hands needing to feel his flesh. She touches his abs and watches him move away. She reaches again and this time he allows her, a kind smile growing. “I want this, Delrin. But what does this make us? Are we only lovers to meet in the dark?”

He places a hand on her shoulder, pushing her back down to the bed. “What - what do you want us to be?” he whispers to her, chest tightening as he sees she had chosen not to wear small clothes. He stares at the mound between her legs, a lick of his lips when he moves to stare back at her. “More?”

She feels the bed dip when he climbs on top of her, his fingers moving across her skin now and she sucks in a breath from his calloused hands. “More is nice. I’d like…us?” she whispers as her hand moves to the stubble along his jaw.

“Us?”

He needs to know if she can run into his arms, kiss him, hug him. If he can open himself up to the risk again. Thoughts of the Templars in Val Colline ran through his mind, their teasing nature about their relationship - or lack there of - still fresh in his mind. He nearly punched a man for saying that he would take her in typical Ferelden fashion. She wasn’t a piece of meat for a dog to take, she wasn’t fresh territory to be claimed.

“Yes, us,” she whispers, twisting under him to stop the blush. “You? Me? Together?”

“Together?”

“Delrin, what do you want me to say?”

He lets out a huff of air, a smile on his face as he shakes his head at her. “I want you to be honest.”

“I am.”

He can feel the heat from her skin, the stray magic sending bolts of electricity against his skin and it takes the rest of his mind to not let the lyrium in his body boil over. “Be mine, and only mine,” Delrin finally says, clear as day.

“I’ve been only yours since we kissed.”

He silences her with a hard and needing kiss, pressing his body to hers, the way the remnants of her magic tickles him pushing him over the edge. Her fingers trace up the backs of his arms to his head, running her fingers over the strip of tight curls, smiling the entire time. He rolls down and up, grinding his hardness against her, needing it to be free. He breaks the kiss, speaking against her lips, “If I don’t - it’s been so long.”

“Delrin Barris…do be quiet.”

He grins at her, spreading from cheek to cheek. “I’m perfectly alright sleeping.”

She snorts and shakes her head. “After.”

He moves his weight to his knees, hands running down the sides of her torso, watching her body shiver under the touch. “We’ve never talked about this.”

“Sex?”

“Maker.”

“I’m not pure, Delrin, if that’s what you’re getting at. Clearly you aren’t, either.”

“It’s been just shy of ten years.”

She tosses her head to the side, her smile brilliant. “Shall we just…get to the good stuff?”

He smirks and moves off of the bed, his pants falling the rest of the way, kicking them to the side. He wouldn’t dive into her. He wouldn’t let his release happen in one thrust, at least…not without hearing her cries and hearing her moan his name.

He drops to his knees and pulls her body closer to the edge. Her laugh fills the air around them until he places his face between her thighs. She sucks in a breath when his tongue darts out, tasting her, licking at the tender slit of her pussy. He licks again and when he reaches her clit, he flicks it with his tongue.

Delrin hears the sharpness of her breath and looks up to see her watching him, nodding with a smile on her face. He licks at his lips and moves between her legs once more, rolling his tongue upwards from her entrance to her clit again. This time, he stays there, his lips pressing against the sensitive nub, his hand moving just under and rubbing the pad of his finger against her entrance. She’s wet already from just this and he looks up at her, never removing his lips from her clit. Her head tosses back, her chest rising and falling, her hands clutching the blankets tight.

He slides his finger into her and hears her take a deep gasp. He releases her clit and moves his tongue to just above his finger, licking at her opened folds, sliding his finger in and out of her. Her thighs tighten and he quickens his pace. He removes his finger completely, moving his hands to her hips and holding her steady. He rolls his tongue and slides it into her slit, unrolling it and spreading her lips. He hears her moan, hears the blankets ruffle. She’s arching her back, digging her toes into the bedding, hoisting herself up to get more of him.

He breathes in her scent and her taste lingers against the back of his tongue. He keeps licking at her sex, feeling her get wetter and wetter with every stroke of his tongue. Delrin lifts a hand to coil around her, finger searching for her clit and flicking it gently. Nirah moans louder and twists her upper body. Her whimpers grow as he goes faster, moving his free hand below to rub himself through his smalls. He pulls back from her cunt, licking once more and looking up at her shaking body.

“Delrin,” she whispers out, one hand nestles against her stomach, the other cupping her breast. “Please don’t -”

He shakes his head, smiling at her. “Maker, you are gorgeous,” he whispers at her, pressing his face close to her sex and kissing once. He moves his hand from his imprisoned cock, sliding a finger into her again, this time watching how her head tosses back, her hair bunching together. He smiles as he curls his finger, watching her hips jolt up and hearing her voice hitch in her throat. Delrin slides the finger out of her and back in, curling it against her pleasure spot.  
“Delrin!” Nirah cries out. “Delrin, please!”

He moves the finger out of her and tugs off his smalls, watching her body quake in anticipation. He strokes the length of himself upwards, the trail of hair tickling the head of his cock. He strokes down and back up again. “Tell me how, Nirah.”

“Creators, Delrin…I don’t care. I want you.”

She’s playing with her nipple, rolling it between her fingers and giving it one gentle tug. “Nirah,” he whispers, climbing on top of her again, kissing her neck with his sex stained lips. She can smell her scent on him and turns her head to catch his lips, to taste how she tastes on his lips. He deepens the kiss, one hand still holding his length, the other grasping at her knee, pushing it up so he can thrust into her better. She squirms under him, her other leg following the direction of the one he’s leading.

Delrin opens his mouth when he starts to rub the head of his length against her folds. He can feel how wet her walls were and he thrust into her just enough to fit the head inside. She hums against his lips, moving both hands to his jaw, nodding her head. He whispers her name like a prayer, pulling away from her to steady himself. He can feel her slickness, her anticipation. Her hips move upwards, forcing him into her, and with that he pushes, rolling his hips to keep a steady pace she sets. His eyes never leave her face, watching her mouth fall open, her eyes widen. She gasps and her hands are against his chest, her fingers curling against the muscle, her nails grazing against his nipples and he hisses.

He stays still for a moment, his cock twitching in eager need to fuck her. “Delrin,” she whimpers, her hips moving in a circular motion, fucking his still length. Each stroke of his cock, each circular motion of her hips was a flood of pleasure. Walls tightening and loosening. He glances down at her fucking him, seeing the wetness spread around the base of his dick. He watches her lips spread with every push, tighten at every pull. He could watch her do this for days. He felt a rolling thunder in his gut and he pushes into her once, hearing her gasp in surprise.

Her hands fell to her face, the bottom of her lip the only part of her he could see…and Maker, he wants to see her face light up. He thrusts into her as much as he can, both hands releasing her and moving her arms so she couldn’t block her face. He pins them to the side of her and thrusts into her again. He needs to see her face explode in pleasure, watch her eyes search his face, watch her mouth hang open and pant out his name. Delrin needs her more than she knows.

He dips his head to her breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth and giving one soft tug of his teeth. “Delrin!” she moans, nearly screaming. He releases her breast and slides in and out of her, picking up speed, his thrusts overcoming the rolling of her hips.

“Nirah,” he whispers back at her, his lips pressing against her skin as he spoke. “Nirah, Nirah, Nirah.”

And he reels back, holding her knees to support himself. His abs are rippling with every thrust, his pecs tightening as he breathes. He can feel himself tightening, feel the build up. Barely even getting into it and already he was about to -

Maker, he needs to pull away from her. How could he? She's warm, inviting, wet, ready for him all in one. She pants as he fucks her now, her moans becoming louder with every thrust.

“Nirah, I’m -”

She opens her eyes, bleary from them rolling back into her head, and she nods eagerly. He can feel her walls close in around him, feels her becoming slicker. No. Not again. He couldn’t do that no matter how much he wants to. He pulls out after one last thrust, not even having to stroke himself off before he cums across her sex and ass, her inner thighs, the blanket under her. His breath is heavy, staring in wonder, awe, horror at the mess he had created.

“Delrin,” she purrs, her folds still pulsing as she rises the last of her orgasm. She twists her upper body, leaning against her elbows to stare at his entire naked self. “Why did you wait so long to do that to me?”

“You’re…not mad?” he whispers at her, bending down and picking up the first article of clothing he could find, diligently wiping at her nether region. She smirks and breathe, releasing a small giggle as he rubs her wetness.

“Why in the name of the Creators would I be mad?”

“I…it was too fast.”

Her laughter rings in his ears, magical and musical all in one and he never wants it to end. “We have so much more time for you to make up for it.”

He smirks and strokes her outer calf with his free hand, the other tossing the clothing back to the ground. “Temptress.”

“Everything the Chantry warned you about?” Her grin is wide and her eyes sparkle with new found life.

“I was not prepared for you, if that’s what you mean.” He kisses the tip of her nose before sitting on his haunches, stretching the muscles out. He grabs at her, tugging her towards the pillows, hearing her laugh ring out again. “I fear I must speak with the new Divine about this. When she is appointed.”

Nirah smirks and shook her head, letting him adjust on the bed before falling into her rightful spot. She had missed it and curling against him, feeling the stickiness of his naked flesh…she never wants it to be gone. “Delrin? Will…you stay here tonight?”

“And leave this bed? Why do you even come to mine?” he teases out, kissing the top of her head once.

He grabs at the first blanket he can, moving his feet to slide under it and cover her with it as well. “Well, for starters, you’re in your bed.”

He breathes out once, feeling her entire body against the length of his, cursing himself for not doing what they had done sooner. “A valid point. You…could have invited me here sooner.”

She snorts and cuddles against him. “The guards will be wagging their tongues tonight. At least going to you, I can claim I slept naked under the stars.”

Delrin shifts in his spot, glancing down at her. Her eyes are already closed, her hand curling against his chest. “Do the Dalish really -”

“Yes,” she purrs. “And we dance around a bonfire while naked, too.”

“It’s not nice to tease,” he says while pulling her closer, kissing her forehead.

“Did you miss me?” she whispers in an almost asleep trance.

Delrin breathes in, smiling at her form, at the dying fire. He lifts his hand up, examining the ties before tugging once, the one side falling perfectly. He glares at the other side and went to move. Nirah gets up and reaches over, tugging it loose and smiling with her eyes still shut. “Come here,” he says, pulling her closer to him, turning his body to hold her completely now. “I missed you every day I was gone and the moment I left Skyhold, I wanted to come back and kiss you.”

She hums and curls against him, tilting her head to catch his lips once. “Never leave like that again?”

He swallows and shakes his head, nuzzling his nose into her hair. “I promise.”


	9. Part Nine

He’s quiet as he stares off of the battlements and down towards the forward camp. He’s quiet as he shifts in his spot. The sun has barely risen, the pinks and oranges in the sky dancing with the lightest bit of blue. He remembers an old saying his mother used to say to him. “Pink in the morning, a new love is blooming.”

Cullen snorts and shakes his head. His mother was always telling him this or that about love, passing it onto his sister. He shivers as a blast of cold wind rises up, tilting his neck down to bury himself in the fur. “Cullen, you really should wait inside.”

He tilts his head a bit, nodding at Josephine holding a steaming cup of an exotic drink from Antiva. “I asked for him to come directly to me.”

“Ser Barris had a long mission! You expect too much from him. Come inside, drink some coffee and relax. He’ll come.” Josephine pushed open the door once, gesturing inside with both cups and saucers in her hands.

Cullen sighs and moves away from the view, shaking his head and rubbing the back of his neck. “Thank you, Josephine. What are you even doing up this early?”

She smiles and places the saucer down, spinning it so the handle faces him. “Nirah and I have plans later so I want to get everything done early. What with the Winter Palace waiting for us, we need to sit and figure out her dress, what the Inquisition will wear, which noble house will represent her, her escort. So many different things!” she squeals before taking a sip.

“And you’re up this early to prepare for…that?”

Josephine shrugs one shoulder, watching him sit and slurp down the coffee. “Sip, Cullen. You’re meant to -”

“It tastes better if I just down it. Well, when you’re finished with her please -”

“I’ll send her down the moment we are done.” Josephine gives a small curtsy at the Commander, turning and stopping for a moment. “Have you asked?”

“Not yet,” he mumbles before finishing his cup. He shakes his head at her when she hums, her smile growing large. “Don’t. Mettle.”

“Antivan’s honor.”

“Fat lot of good that does me.”

She wiggles her nose at him and turns away to head outside. She walks and sips at her coffee, her eyes landing on the open balcony doors. Good, she thinks, she’s up!

-

Nirah clings to Delrin, squeezing herself to him. Their feet and legs are tangled against each other; his under hers, and her other under his. The blankets are pulled up close around their faces, Nirah’s barely seen. He grips her closer, shivering as he dips his head. “It’s freezing,” he whispers.

“Next fortress we find better be somewhere much warmer,” she grumbles back. “Go shut the balcony?”

“And leave the warmth?” he laughs under the blanket, burrowing down, forcing the blanket to go over his head. “Never,” he purrs, lowering his head to kiss the tip of her nose.

“But it’s so cold! Isn’t there some way we can,” and she’s grinning as his lips move away from her nose, pressing them against her cheek, “warm up? Without leaving the - Delrin!”

His hand is already moving between her legs, fingers digging between them to find her mound, pressing the pad of his middle finger against it. “Mm, I can think of something,” he purrs at her , pushing himself closer. She laughs and squirms, gasping when she feels his length hard and hot against her thigh.

“Delrin,” she breathes out. She moves against him, pressing herself to his body, soft muscles against hardened ones, claiming his lips once, twice, feeling his hands grip at her hips. He rolls on top of her, untangling their legs, pressing his knee between her thighs. She gasps into his mouth, her fingers lacing around his back.

He hums and rubs his knee against her once more, pulling away and kissing at her neck, nibbling where her jaw and neck met. He can feel her pulse and sucks on the tender skin, rocking upward, forcing his knee to sit just on her sex. “Do you have plans today?” he whispers between bouts of sucking and kissing.

“No,” she sighs out with a grin. “Besides apparently keeping you in my quarters all day.”

Delrin smiles and lets his hands trail down, exploring every part of her body that he had saw last night. He licks at his lips, sitting up on his knees, watching her body in the breaking sunlight. His fingers trace up her stomach, watching her shudder under the touch. Both hands move to her breasts, cupping them and examining the off pink areolas to the darkening, and hardening, nipples. He rolls her breasts in his hands, examining their weight, their feel, squeezing them together and bending to kiss each nipple.

Nirah gives a sharp inhale, her toes digging into the blankets, eyes turning brilliant at the sight of him sitting back up. Her fingers race to move across his abs, the tips of her nails brushing the trail of black hair leading southward. She bites at her lip, examining him fully now. “Last night was such a rush I didn’t get a good look,” she whispers and hums when his cock flicked upwards.

“And I didn’t get a good look at you.” His voice turns husky and he hums back at her, lifting her legs up, listening to her let out a small squeal. Her hands fall to cover herself and Delrin lets one leg go to push them away, brushing the curls of her sex in the process. “So the Dalish aren’t hairless?”

Nirah shrieks and and goes to clamp her thighs but Delrin moves forward, lowering himself so her legs are tight against his sides. “Never believed you were one to listen to rumors!”

“I was merely curious,” he whispers, his smile growing as she wiggled and squirmed. “What other rumors aren’t true? I heard that the Dalish aren’t ticklish.”

“Well, that’s a blatant lie.”

His fingers are against her sides and she screams, legs sticking straight, toes curling in the air, feet arched as his fingers move up her sides to her neck and down to her torso. She twists and turns, leg moving around his head and falling to the bed. He watches her curl into a tight ball and grabs her, hoisting her up on her knees.

“Alright, I’m sorry,” he whispers, hands sliding down her arms gently. She hums and giggles still, leaning back against his chest, lifting her arms up, stretching against his body. He grabs at her waist and kisses against her ear, feeling her shiver against him. He grins and kisses again, this time the shivering turning into shuddering. He whispers in her ear, hands traveling against her, one cupping her sex as the other moves up to her breast, squeezing it before massaging it. “I see that rumor is true.”

“Delrin,” she moans out, his fingers working together on each hand. His middle finger flicks at her clit and moves deeper to tease at her entrance. His hand squeezes her breast a bit harder, moving it so he can pinch at her nipple. She gasps and arches back, collapsing under him as he pushes her forward. She turns her head, hands gripping at the blankets under her.

The sun is rising behind him and to her he never looked more handsome. He grabs at her rear and gives one gentle squeeze. Her brows rise up and she squeaks out a moan. He grabs again, leaning into her, smiling. “I want to know,” he starts, licking at his lips as he sees her gnawing on her bottom lip, “everything you like.”

“That…that could take some time.”

He laughs and dips his chin down as he nods, rolling his hips up so she can feel how hard he actually is. “Shall I start, then?” he whispers, caressing her arse, moving up her back, fingers dancing over her spine.

Nirah laughs and shakes her head, hair tumbling around her. “Are you going to ask or…act?” she teases, tossing her head to stare up at him, her eyes glinting when he reached the spot between her shoulders.

Delrin licks his lips, his fingers dragging back, pressing into her skin and watching her eyes flutter shut. “Massages?” he whispers, eyes locked on the lazy nod she responded with. “Are you alright like this?” Nirah gives him a large smile that spread across her entire face. He chuckles and she purrs, his hands racing back to touch the strands of her hair, pushing his pelvis against her rear to collect it and group it together.

“You like my hair.”

He tilts his head down, the strands falling through the spaces between fingers, the coolness of her auburn hair sending chills up his arms. He knows she’s controlling her magic, keeping it toned down as much as she was able to. “I - I love it, actually.”

Nirah smiles more and pushes herself back against him, sitting up on her knees, swooping her hair, pulling and gathering it up, her fingers stretching and raking them over the crown, shaking her hair loose, the strands tickling his chest. “There.”

He presses his lips against her head, breathing in the scent. He’s smiling against her, feeling her rolling her hips just enough to entice him.

He smirks and gives her a slight shove. She drops down to her hands, arching her back and relaxing. Delrin moves away from her hips, his hands against her waist and twisting her so she’d roll onto her back. Her laughter fills the air when he climbs on top of her, fingers racing up her sides, his blunted nails barely scraping the tender flesh. He’s poking and prodding, feeling the muscles that were once there and she’s blushing. He presses his lips to one cheek, feeling the warmth they exude. With one hand, he feels her stomach, smiling as she squirms under his touch.

“St - stop.”

He lifts his head, worry lines around his eyes, creases in his forehead form as she turns away from his face. “Did I cross a line?” he whispers, raising his hand and moving it back to her waist.

“No. I’ve just been eating too much lately.”

Delrin licks at his lips and his smile grows, crooked as he moves on his side more. “There is nothing wrong with that.”

Nirah sucks in her breath and lets out a huff of hair in his face, furrowing her brow and giving him a glare, eyes shining with playfulness. “Say that to my armor mister…muscles.”

Delrin laughs, full and hearty, tucking his forehead against her shoulder as he does. “Alright, fine. I won’t touch your stomach no matter how cute it becomes.”

“Becomes?” she replies, widening her eyes, the edges of her lips going up.

He hums and nods, kissing the tip of her nose. “Anywhere else?”

“You do know this started very differently, right?”

He grins back at her smile, locking his gaze on her eyes. “I’m perfectly happy figuring you out. Or…the other thing. Maker,” he whispers, biting at his lower lip, smiling all over again. “Just so long as you’ll have me here -”

Nirah presses her lips to his, forcing him to go on his back, moving her leg to straddle him. She grasps at his chest, squeezing the muscles once before breaking the kiss, reeling back and grinning. “In that case, by order of the Inquisitor, you are to remain in this bed.”

Delrin laughs, tilting his head away and letting his fingers rub small circles against her thighs. “And food? Our duties?” He thinks for a moment, cocking his head to the side, watching her vibrant smile blossom like it was summer. “Baths?”

When he was silent, Nirah opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue. “I’ll have food brought here.”

“Enough for two?” he quips.

“I’m a growing Elf, apparently.” Delrin laughs and shakes his head, watching her breasts jiggle from his movements. “We can perform our duties here.”

His hands are against her waist, holding her steady, admiring the way she sits perfectly upright. “I have my Templars to watch over. Meetings to attend.”

“I have a bath that was just shipped from Orzammar.”

He jolts up, engulfing her in his arms to stop her from falling. She shrieks and laughs, clutching onto him. “And you tell me now?” he whispers into her ear, kissing her cheek, her jaw, her chin, racing down her neck to kiss the top of her cleavage.

“Well, I still need to figure you out,” she answers with a kiss to his brow.

“What do you want to know?”

“The scar. Tell me about it.”

Delrin sighs while smiling, shaking his head a few times, nuzzling himself closer to her. “I was foolish, and young, and stupid. I challenged an older Templar while training.” Nirah’s face fell, pressing her forehead to his, shaking it once. “He used a real blade to teach me a lesson. Didn’t realize how stubborn I was until that day.”

“Was he punished?”

“No,” he says with a laugh. “The Knight Commander commended him and told the healers to leave the scar as a reminder of humility.” He lifts her up more, scooting his way closer to the edge of the bed. “Anything else?”

“Are we -” Nirah swallows and laces her fingers together, holding herself to him. “How open are we going to be with this?”

“Straight to the serious talk,” he sighs, kissing her once more against her breasts, sitting on the edge of the bed and placing her down delicately in his lap. “Nirah,” he starts, lifting his head to stare directly at her. “I am yours. Fully. If you want,” he swallows, averting his gaze from her to blink, to control his emotions. “If you want, we can tell the world. But there will be -”

“Repercussions?”

“I won’t be respected as a Templar. The rift between mages and Templars will more than likely deepen since it will be shown that you are favoring the Templars.” Delrin takes a large breath of air, breathing it out in one go. “Not to mention the risk we are taking with you being a mage.”

“So, all bad then?” she chimes in, tilting her head as she sucks in her lips.

He sees her eyes start to shake, the tears forming already. “However. I do know that most of my brothers and sisters have been eager to find out more about this. It could be seen that Templars and mages can work together. And who better to watch over the Inquisitor’s sleep than a Templar in love with her?”

Nirah’s eyes flash and her brows lifts up, darting them to look at his own. “Did you -”

Delrin laughs once, a mystifying combination of fright and eagerness swirling around him. “Did I? It,” his words began stumbling from his mouth, her smile growing wide as he attempts to backpedal. “It would be quite the thing, of course. When it - if it - Andraste preserve me, I can’t believe I -”

She presses her lips to his, silencing his words before peeling off of him. “I suppose if a Templar was in love with me, I would feel quite safe sleeping in their arms, being in their presence.” She walks closer to the door that led to her personal bath, stretching her body. “Sneaking into their quarters to steal their pillow when they’re not in Skyhold just to have a bit of comfort.” She turns her head and flashes a grin at him, her cheeks dusty pink.

Delrin clicks his tongue and stands, crossing her room, fingers grazing her skin before pulling her against his body. “This is the first time in ten years that I’ve,” he takes a breath and dips his head, pressing his nose to hers, “felt anything close to love.” Nirah backs herself against the door, Delrin still pressing against her, stepping with her.

She nods fast, licking at her bottom lip. “Do y -”

“Don’t. Give me time.” Nirah nods again, her lips brushing against his, eyes focusing on his. “Give me time and -” He swallows his words, kissing her once. “And perhaps I’ll be able to -”

She nods, fingers holding his jaw as she kisses him back, deeper and longer each time she pulls away. He rolls his hips towards her, pinning her to the door, reignited heat and desire coursing through his veins. He whispers at her, kissing her lips and jaw, moving to her neck. And she listens, lifting one leg for him to catch, the other not far behind.  
He struggles at first, sliding into her was far easier with her on the bed. But he needs her. He needs to feel her entire body against him, needs to feel her legs coil around him, needs to feel her shuddering gasps of moans against his neck, his cheek, his jaws. He needs her, completely.

And it doesn’t take long for him to get into a rhythm, the door thudding as he thrusts in and out of her, her gasps turning into moans. She digs her fingers into his shoulder muscles, burrowing her face into his neck, moaning louder and louder as he picked up speed.

Neither of them hear the nearly silent knock on her door.

Neither hear the padded steps of heels on stone.

Neither bother to even look at Josephine standing at the top of the steps, her eyes wide, palm covering her mouth as she takes in a giant gasp of air watching Delrin and Nirah in the throes of lovemaking. She takes a step back, nervousness causing her to grip the handrail tight, backing away with a smile on her face.


	10. Part Ten

The sun has been awake for some time, not nearly enough to cause worry, but enough to make Delrin feel nervous. He buckles his belt and watches as Nirah tugs her jacket in place, buttoning each shiny metal piece at a time. He reaches out and catches her hand, taking over for her, smiling all the while. “You know, I don’t have a shirt to go down there.”

“What’s wrong with that - oh,” she laughs, her face falling flat as she tapped her hips. “I don’t suppose you feel comfortable just -”

“The answer is no. You could always go and grab one.” He crumples his tunic into a ball, fingers digging into the thickest part. “Although, that is just as suspicious.”

“I may have one? I think Dorian left it here -”

Nirah moves to the chest at the foot of her bed, tearing into without hesitation. “You’re close with him?” Delrin asks, trying to avoid watching the way she knelt on the ground. Twice today. He feels something stir inside of him and he blushes at the thought of her in front of him in that position. He swallows air and shakes his head. Maker, this was going to be harder than he had thought. Twice and he hadn’t even begun his training rounds. Twice, once against the door and once again in the tub and already he wanted her again. He calms himself, reciting a Canticle in his mind, thinking of anything but her kneeling in front of him.

“Well, yes? He’s quite proficient in magic usage and is more than willing to share his thoughts on the matter.” She sits up and grins, shaking an off white colored tunic. “Might be a bit small.”

“It’s fine.” Delrin moves closer to her and grabs it, his fingers brushing over hers. “I typically see you hanging around with that trouble maker, too,” he says to only keep his mind clear of want.

“Sera? She’s inn - alright, yes, a trouble maker. She’s sweet though. Confusing, but sweet.” Nirah turns one leg, landing on the ground and staring up at Delrin tugging on the tunic; a far too deliciously tight tunic. “It looks quite good on you.”

“Maker, I’m going to be the laughing stock of Skyhold. You realize this?” He squats in front of her, the tension in the shirt revealing muscles she herself had only just seen last night and that morning.

“I doubt it, Delrin. I think people will be too busy looking at what a fine man we have here.” She exhales and leans back on her hands, admiring the view. She bites at her lower lip, her head pivoting just to the side as she lets her eyes linger. “The tricky part,” she coughs out, “is getting you out of here. Creators, weren’t there guards last night?”

Delrin sighs and stands back up. “Yes. Although, they were half asleep when I came in. Easily deniable. Not that…I want to deny.”

Nirah shook her head, waving a hand in a nonchalant manner. “I think we’re past that point.”

Delrin extends a hand down to her, waiting for her fingers to slide in his palm, hoisting her up and giving her a long kiss. “Maker’s breath, Nirah.”

She smiles and twists her head, staring at the sun lit mountains. “Will you come tonight?” She slips on a satchel over her head, mindful of tucking it in place.

“As soon as I can.”

“Or will it be easier for me to go to you?”

Delrin sighs out and embraces her, swaying her in his arms. “Easier? You to come to me. Better? Me to you.”

Nirah laughs and begins back pedalling, dragging Delrin with her, her hips giving a slight sway with every step. “Better, hm? In what ways?”

Delrin grabs her sides, stopping her before the stairs. “For one, your bed is ridiculously comfortable. A Templar should never complain about his lodgings, his home. It’s beneath us since we live to serve the Maker.” Nirah raises her brows, a small ‘o’ shape appearing on her lips before Delrin continues. “But your bed is magnificent to fuck you on.”

“Delrin Barris!” Nirah shouts, her hands pressing against her lips with her eyes wide.

“Two!” he shouts over her, laughing as he raises his hands, pulling hers down, lacing them together and gripping them tight. “I can hear you call out my name loud enough for Andraste to hear you without fear of others knocking on my door.”

Her mouth hangs open, her smile growing with every word he speaks. “If you keep talking like that,” she whispers, pressing herself against him, “I don’t know if we will be able to leave.”

“And three,” he stops, lips almost touching hers, nearly kissing her and pulling her back into the bed just to get his fill of her.

“Three?” she asks and tilts her head up more, her lips grazing his.

He kisses her a single time, pulling away and shaking his head as he moves down the stairs, leaving Nirah to stand there flabbergasted. He chews on his lip, a hand brushing the strip of hair. How can he explain to her that he was falling for her? That he had meant what he said - in love with her.

Delrin turns at the bottom of the steps, her eyes still focused on where he was. “Three. I can honestly say I’ve never seen you in a more relaxed state, in a happier mood, than up here.”

Nirah turns to face him, taking the first step and crossing her arms. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to figure out a way to get a secret passage built from here to the Templar’s tower then, hm?” Nirah moves down the rest of the steps with a bounce on each one. She twirls her hair up and around, a small circle of thread coiling at the base of her skull. When she reaches Delrin, he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, frowning. “What?”

“I like it down, is all.”

“I’ll remember that for tonight,” she teases and taps his nose with her finger.

Delrin smirks and grabs her finger, pushing it to his lips. “What’s the plan then?” Nirah smiles back at him and pushes the door open, a glimmer in her eyes. “Are we just going to walk into the great hall?”

“Well, I am. You are going to wait until it clears out.”

“And how do you intend to - Nirah, wait!” She’s rushing down the rest of the stairs, fingers delving into her satchel. She turns and waves it in front of her and Delrin widens his eyes. He’s seen it before and knows that it means trouble. “Nirah!” he hisses out, shaking his head as he moves fast to follow her. “Bees? How in the world -”

“They’re special bees. No stingers. I caught them in the Hinterlands last month.”

“You caught them.”

Nirah grins and twirls, taking her steps backwards. “I did. I wanted them for my garden. Stingless, produces wonderful honey, amazing for ensuring proper germination -”

Delrin shakes his head and grasps at her wrist, tugging her before the final set of steps. “Why were they up in your room, beekeeper?”

She blushes at the way he teases her, craning her head to look at the steps they had just walked down, wishing and dreaming of going back up there. “The males needed to be apart from the queen.”

“You can tell the difference?”

She rolls her eyes and lifts the hand that is holding her wrist, pressing it against the curls of black under her eyes. “Dalish. Do you really want to know why?”

Delrin flinches as her wrist is pulled away. He does, surprisingly, if only to hear her talk. If only to have a few precious moments with her. But the time…he nods once, fingers tracing the tattoos on her face. He wants to know more about her. “Short version.”

Nirah takes in a deep breath and lifts the jar up. “The queen left. Meaning she took drones with her, workers with her. I needed to catch some of the males to make sure that breeding can occur here.”

“I’m afraid to ask why,” he chuckles out, still touching the marks.

“The hive is too big. The babies will fight it out and whoever comes out strongest is the new queen. These -” she lifts the jar again, “- are for breeding with the new queen. I needed to release them this week anyway and their buzzing is quite loud enough to startle and force people out. They’ll know where to go.”

“How did you manage to catch bees?”

She grins at his amazement, at the way his fingers brush her vallaslin. At him. “I’ve always had a way with things like this. Except spiders.”

“Spiders?”

“Hate them. Terrified, really.” She puffs out her cheeks, blowing air out in a huff. “Do I even need to do this? We can go back up,” she finally says, edging on the brink of whining.  
“I’ll be done faster than you. I’ll be up there, waiting. With a change of clothes.”

Nirah laughs and shakes her head, turning back around and walking down the final steps. When she hears the topmost stair creak, she turns and holds a finger up, glaring at him. He watches her open the door and step out, jar firmly in her hands as she moves. She stops and he can’t see her until she walks back, her face tight.

“It’s empty.”

“What?”

“The entire room is cleared out. Even Vivienne is gone.”

That was a slap of surprise in the face if he’d ever heard one. He races down the steps and moves past her, poking his head out. “How…?”

“Here. Go free my bees. I’ll talk to Josephine. I swear that there was nothing planned.”

“Free your bees?”

“Just outside in the garden, go on. They don’t sting, remember?”

He laughs once and shakes his head. “I hate bees.”

“Stingless!” She licks her lips and goes to tuck the jar of bees back into her satchel, but Delrin reaches out and grabs it, holding it like it was a jar of poison. “Thank you,” she says with a smile, glancing around once. Not a single breathing person. She stands on the tips of her toes, pressing her lips against half of his. Delrin turns his head, breathing her in, pressing back.

Just as quickly as her lips were there, they were gone. She turns away from him, stopping at the door that led to Josephine’s office, wiggling her fingers to wave good bye, rising them to her lips to kiss them, to blow him a kiss.

He laughs and shakes his head, watching the door shut. “Alright bees,” he whispers and takes long strides towards the door that led towards the garden. “Stingless…better be.”

Nirah walks into Josephine’s office, clipped steps as she stares at the Antivan fervently working on another report. “Josie?” she calls out, waving once. “Where is everyone?”

“You said you needed the great hall cleared. Remodeling? Remember?” Josie looks up, her cheeks a vibrant pink, her eyes only meeting Nirah’s for a brief moment before looking at anything but her her. “I would suggest we get you a new throne. That thing is dusty and does not -”

“Josephine. Remodelling is tomorrow. What’s going on?” Nirah moves closer, stopping just at the woman’s desk, arms crossing and staring her down. “Why won’t you look at me?”  
She takes in a long breath and stands, eyes moving towards the door that led into the war room. Nirah sighs and shakes her head, moving over there and pushing the door open, heading directly to the large room. Josephine follows behind, her one hand ringing the other, twisting them to repeat the process. She shuts the large door behind her, still gripping the handle. “I will never be able to look at a door the same way,” she mutters out, turning her head to finally lock eyes with Nirah.

“What? Why? Josephine, does this have to do with me catching you with your dolls?”

“It has something to do with someone catching someone.” Nirah blinks in response, shaking her head as her face contorts in even more confusion. “Someone catching someone and someone else.”

Nirah’s brows shoot up her face, her jaw tightening, never blinking as Josephine sighs and places a hand against her forehead. “I - I -,” Nirah begins to stutter, shaking the stun away. “I have no idea what you are speaking of.”

Josephine spins on her heels, toes hitting the stone…hard. “You and Ser Barris would make a good match.”

Nirah scrunches her face tight, groaning as she squats down, hands digging through her hair. “Mythal ma halani.”

She hears the clicking of Josephine’s shoes stop just in front of her, the ruffles of her skirts crumpling together as she kneels. “You forgot we had plans, I thought you were - were still sleeping. I had only meant to wake you!”

“How much did you see? How much did you hear!”

Josephine shakes her head. “I saw very little and what I heard I dare not repeat because it was -”

Nirah howls and drops completely to the ground, covering her face, pushing her fingers against the skin, dragging them back to her scalp. “Josie, you -”

“I won’t! I swear it! No one has to know but you two - well, and me. But I can help!” Josephine reaches over and grabs at Nirah’s hands, pulling them away from her face. “Are you crying?”

Nirah sits up, her face a vibrant red, and shakes it. “Josie, if it gets out you know -”

“I know. Your secret is safe with me, on my honor.” She licks her lips and glances behind her, her lips growing to a smile. “How - how is he?”  
“Josie!”

“I know you want to talk about it! I can see it -”

Nirah presses her fingers against Josephine’s mouth, shaking her head a few times. “All what you need to know is that he treats me quite well and was very intune with making sure I was taken care of.”

Josephine squirms on her haunches, her fingers grasping a tight hold on Nirah’s, tugging her closer. “Details. All of them.”

Outside, Delrin examines the garden that Nirah had set up, admiring the hard work she had placed into it. She has yet to decide what exactly she tends to do with the space, leaving it unsettled minus the pots of herbs and flowers she tended to. He sighs and walks over to the strange box set up just to the side of those pots, already hearing the buzzing. He stops and looks down at the jar and winces as he begins to unscrew the top. It’s close enough, he thinks as he flinches when the lid is removed, the bees buzzing about and racing away in every which direction.

“Nirah has you doing her menial tasks now?”

Delrin turns on the balls of his feet, staring at the mage - Dorian - sitting on a bench, flipping a page of his thick book. “Merely a favor, Ser Pavus.”

“Ser? You were raised in nobility.” He shuts the book and crosses his legs, his head tilts to the side and watches Delrin stand there in - “Is that my shirt?”

The Templar swallows and shakes his head. “It was mixed with my laundry. If you’d like it back -”

“No. No, it looks quite fetching on you, actually.” Dorian smiles. and crosses an arm to cover the book. “Although, how it got mixed with your laundry is quite the puzzle. No matter. Keep it. At least one of you Templars will look put together even in the slightest. Tell me, I’ve been looking for the Inquisitor for a better part of the morning. Have you seen her?”

Delrin opens his mouth, closing it and nodding. “I handed my reports to her before she went to meet with the Lady Ambassador.” He gives a small bow of his head before fleeing. Dorian watches him leave and stands fast, fingers thumping against the book as he made his way back inside the great hall, sprinting when he knows no one is there, rushing to find her.

“Nirah Lavellan! I swear!” he cries out, opening the door that led inside Josephine’s room. Neither were there and he beelines for the war room, tearing it open and seeing the two of them sitting on the ground, blinking up at him. “Nirah! A Templar? Really!”

Nirah’s mouth hangs open and whips her head towards Josephine, eyes like daggers. “I swear! I didn’t!”

“She didn’t.” He slams the door and crosses his arms, shaking his head. “That is one of my favorite shirts! The silk can only be made in Tevinter and I let you borrow it once and this is how I find out about you sticking it with a Templar? Have you never heard of discretion? Have you never heard of telling me every little detail?”

Josephine snorts and covers her mouth, shooting a sympathetic stare at Nirah. The Elf sat there and shakes her head, a pathetic sounding chuckle coming from her mouth. “I swear if Cassandra walks in here next, I may scream.”

“Details, my dear. Where have those muscles been hiding? I can give him more shirts. Maker knows we need more eye candy around here.”

Josephine snorts again, her eyes clamping shut and waving her hand. “Oh just tell him, Josie,” Nirah sighs, lifting a knee to support her elbow.

“His rear is a magnificent sight, Dorian!”

“And how would you know?” he snorts back at her, staring at the ground before sitting. “What, did he stroll down here naked?”

“More like Josie is a bit of a sneak,” Nirah laughs out.

“It is not my fault your moans could wake the dead!”

Dorian roars in laughter, covering his mouth, his eyes wide. “You didn’t.” Josephine nods, her eyes glistening with mischief like she was a young girl playing at the game again. “You do realize, Nirah, that I may sneak up into your room to catch this glorious rear in action. Or perhaps I could leave a few more of my tunics up there. I have one in particular.”

The three of them laugh, Nirah covering her face and lying on the ground.

-

Delrin moves through the quarters of the Templar tower, shaking his head at the comments he hears. He feels hands pat his shoulder more times than he can count, each of them cheering him on. So much for silence, so much for privacy, so much for secrecy. The young woman from last night stands just at the steps towards his quarters, her hands gripping each other. “Yes?” he asks, whispering just loud enough for her to hear him over the raucous noise.

“Commander Rutherford is waiting for you in his office. He told me - he told me to tell you that you are to be there immediately upon waking.”

Delrin scrunches his face together, piecing the words she spoke. “Upon waking?”

“All of us vouch for you being here, Ser, for the entirety of the night. You were quite tired yesterday from your mission.”

Delrin shakes his head, his hand falling on her shoulders. “You needn’t lie for my sake.”

“It’s for all of our sakes. We need a leader like you to represent us. To make sure that the Templar Order still stands at the end of this.”

It clicks in his mind.

Delrin nods once, motioning her to go. He walks down the steps without a second glance to her, opening his door and leaning against it to shut it. He drags his hands over his face, shaking his head before undressing. He had to prepare for the meeting with Cullen and he prays to the Maker that the Commander wouldn’t be able to smell the faint traces of her against his skin, that he wouldn’t see the marks she left on his heart and mind. He had to prepare for the conversation with Nirah about his Templars and their intrusion and beliefs.


	11. Part Eleven

Three weeks.

Three incredible weeks.

That’s all what it took for Nirah to know she never wanted anyone other than Delrin in her life.

They spent the majority of their time together in her room, with the help of Josephine and Dorian. The two of them would cause enough distractions to make the guards and nobles either flee the great hall or allow Delrin to slip by undetected. His favorite was when Dorian had fainted in the middle of dinner; he had never seen a guard rush so quick to someone’s side.

To Josephine, it was perfecting her ways at the game, although that had caught the attention of Leliana perhaps a bit too quickly. She joined in with a devilish little smirk on her face, her attitude about their secret meetings far better than either would have assumed. The romance, as she claimed, was palpable between the two of them.

It didn’t take long for Cullen to figure it out. The oils that Nirah bathed in lingered on Delrin, and that scent was the first sign. He smelled it when a gust of air blew into his office during a meeting with the Templar; Cullen brushed it off, ignored it, convinced himself that she was simply on his mind. When it happened the following day, he knew.

The second sign was how fast Nirah fled from their chess games, how she didn’t let her flirtations linger anymore than simple teasing. How she raced towards her quarters after any meetings they had. How she found excuses so easily to put herself in the Templars’ tower vicinity.

The third was the most obvious, and the most heart wrenching. He saw them. He saw them and Maker he wanted to drink all the lyrium in Skyhold’s storage. He watched them standing in Nirah’s private library kissing like he had never seen anyone kiss before. Fingers delving in her hair, grasping her face and pushing her against the desk. He watched Delrin lift her up with finesse, like he had done it so many times before. He watched him undo her pants, undo his own, their lips never breaking from the other. He watched them in their most intimate moments before Delrin was sent off to Ansburg to assist the Guard-Captain there.

He watched them and he felt sick to his stomach as he left, fingers digging into his palm. He wanted to burn the image from his mind but it was all he could see.

Cullen went through the motions of the days - wake up, eat breakfast, do his rounds, do his reports, meet with Nirah, imagine her and himself in the throes of pure sex.

It killed him to rest in his bed at night, hand stroking himself at the thought of pleasuring her, at the thought of her moaning his name, at the thought of -

“Cullen?”

He jerks himself once and jolts upright in his bed, hearing the door shut. He throbs in his hand at the sound of her voice, the lightness of it echoing up towards him.

“Cullen? Are you in -”

“I’ll be down in a moment,” he sighs, squeezing one final time before letting it go, before breathing in and out and tugging his pants up and over, pushing and trying to hide the erection. He swings his legs over his bed, his tunic billowing and loose enough to be able to hide it. He hopes.

He goes down and already she’s examining the damage done in his room - knives deep within dummies, littering the floor, stabbed in sacks of discarded parchment. “Been busy,” she quips, twirling a blade in her hand.

“It’s been frustrating these past few weeks,” he grunts, moving to his desk. “I’m assuming you’re looking for -”

“You weren’t at chess today. Are you feeling alright?” she turns and places the throwing dagger on the desk, watching him move parchments.

“I assumed you were busy.”

She blinks at the sharpness of his tongue, “Making quite a few assumptions lately. What’s wrong.”

She crosses her arms and tilts her head, waiting to hear it, waiting for him to admit he knew. Who was he to deny the Inquisitor?

“Does he love you?”

Cullen grips the paperwork tight in his hands, his knuckles against his desk as he watches her nod once, her hair bouncing and falling around her. “How long have you -”

“I had a feeling a few weeks ago. I…ah. Perhaps your affairs would be best left in your quarters, Inquisitor.” Cullen pushes his mess of hair back, the loose waves crumbling under his touch.

Nirah moves and grabs at his jaw, tilting it up to look at him in the eyes. He expects her to be furious at his tone, at his insubordination, at his jealousy. He was shocked to see the exact opposite; the concern in her eyes, the amount of compassion. He thinks how much he doesn’t deserve it.

“I had a feeling you knew. Why - why wouldn’t you come to me?”

Cullen pushes her hand away, shaking his head in the process. “Nirah, I have no right to interfere with your relations, no matter how I…feel about them.”

She tilts her head to the side, her arms crossing tightly against her chest. “Delrin’s concerned you’re going to be furious at him.”

“He does his job adequately enough.” He collects another parchment, this one rolled tight and tied with a ribbon. Cullen swallows a breath at the way she leans on his desk, the image of her with her legs up and coiled around, pressing into his rear, forcing him to never pull away. If he weren’t an honorable man…If he fell into the lust that climbed up his throat.

Cullen blinks the image away, thrusting the papers at her, cheeks flushing. “I’ve yet to receive word on his return from Ansburg.”

Nirah nods, her head tilts down, fingers clasping tight at the parchments. “Will you speak to him when he does return?”

Cullen releases a bitter laugh, shaking his head and gripping the back of his neck. “Nirah, what do you want me to say?”

“That you’re fine with it? He’s terrified that you hate him.”

“I sent my best men with him, Nirah. If I hated the man, I wouldn’t have done that.” Cullen sighs and releases his neck, dropping his hand to the desk and tapping it a few times. “I can admit that I am jealous, however.”

“Cullen, you know I don’t care if you find companionship in someone. It’s the end of the fucking world,” Nirah sighs out, pushing away from the desk. “I think the last thing on people’s minds are of what’s right and wrong. I think it’s about living, and being able to fulfill life’s desires if anything were to happen.” She swallows and stares at him for a few moments before aiming for the door.

“You never answered me if he loves you or not.”

Nirah bites at her lips, stopping short of the door, holding the papers tight to her chest. “We haven’t exchanged those words.”

Cullen felt a fluttering of hope deep in the caverns of his mind. “Does he make you happy?”

“He does, Cullen.” Nirah turns to stare at him, watching his fingers shake against the desk. “I’m proud of you.”

He lifts his head just enough to meet her gaze. “For?”

Nirah points to the shaking fingers on his desk, half of a smile on her lips. “If you need anything, you know you can talk to me. I promise, no more secrets between the two of us.”

“I think I’d like that,” Cullen responds with a kind smile. “Shall we meet tomorrow?”

“Same time as always.”

He watches as the door shuts.

He watches as his world around him crashes hard, his heart splintering in his chest as he fell to the ground, landing hard on his rear.

He watches as his office is a watery blur, tears streaking down his face, muttering between broken sobs, “I should have kissed you first.” He covers his face with both hands, digging the heels of his palms against his eyes, holding the weight of his head up. “I should have told you before.”


	12. Part 12

Nirah moves through the entrance of Skyhold, stretching her arms high and wiggling her fingers in the air. Already one of Dennet’s stable hands has come and grabbed the reins of her hart, the magnificent beast knowing where to go without need, spitting towards the stable hand. “Careful, he’s moody!” Nirah warns, her hand moving towards the young girl. “He’ll go, just follow.”

“Of course, Inquisitor!” the girl responds with giddy excitement. Nirah smiles and pats her shoulder, stretching once more as Iron Bull moves past her.

“Great job, this week, boss. Dragon next?” he asks, turning on his feet and tossing up his ‘horns’.

She laughs and bends, nodding her head. “Convince Dorian and Sera and my answer is yes, we can take out that dragon in the Hinterlands.”

He laughs back at her and charges up the stairs, easily taking two at a time. Nirah sighs, her steps long, wondering just where Delrin is hiding. He would have returned a few days prior, hopefully getting the message she left on her bed. She smirks at the thought of him sleeping in her bed without him. The image of him sprawling out, taking the entire thing up from end to head makes her giggle in delight.

As she rounds the corner, taking a few steps up towards the keep, she hears a voice call out to her. “Inquisitor! Inquisitor!”

She turns, hand grasping the stone railing for support. “Ah - Knight Corporal? Right?”

The woman nods, short blonde hair brushed back in a small bun at the nape of her neck looking unwashed. “You need to come with me. Please. It’s Ser Barris.”

Nirah is used to those words in that tone, the words that make most people cringe and fear. The tone that puts a lump in most people’s throats. Nirah has been used to that since her first week in Haven.

But hearing it coming from this woman?

Nirah rushes to pass her, drawing in her magic and stepping once forward, the burst of energy pushing her towards the stairs. She storms up them not even bothering to to wait for the young woman.

She knows her way. Templars move out of her path, some sitting up on their bed just to catch a glimpse. Down the steps, and past another set of beds to reach the final staircase.  
One of Skyhold’s healers is making his way up, basket in hand and Nirah doesn’t stop to let him pass, opting to barrel past him and slam into the door with a thud. Her breathing is heavy, her hands gripping the handle tight before pushing her entire weight against the door to open it. She storms in, chest heaving, the loud creaking of it being shut causing the man to stir in his bed, tossing himself up to stare at her.

“Nirah!” Delrin practically screams, wincing as he sits up, hissing in pain as she cuts across his room to land on him, to cover his face in sweet kisses. “Maker, the leg! The leg!”

“What?” She sits up, her eyes searching his face, sinking to her knees on the ground. “What happened?”

He slumps back against the pillows, tugging the blanket to reveal his bandaged leg. “I suppose I’m not made of steel like all those rumors say I am.”

Nirah’s lips are drawn into her mouth, eyes shut as she runs a finger over the hardened bandages. “What happened?”

She feels his hand tug at her hair. “It’s not important,” he whispers, fingers grasping the thread and tugging it down. “You’re back and you’re safe.”

“What -”

“A demon.” His thumb brushes the side of her face. “It…went into my mind. I let it get the better of me.”

“Delrin,” she whispers, turning her head to kiss his thumb. She sighs and stares at the large line of off white against his skin. “What did the healer use?” she asks, adjusting herself to tug her pack off and letting it clatter to the ground.

“Ah - elfroot? Embrium?” Nirah snorts and shakes her head, muttering something under her breath as she open her pack fully. He can hear the clinking of vials, the smell protruding from it making him wince. “Nirah, the healers know what -”

“What kind of demon was it?” she asks, drawing a half filled vial of crushed herbs up to her face, uncorking it and giving a slight sniff before closing it. “Rage? Pride?”

“Despair.”

Nirah glances up at him for a moment, lowering the vials to go back to her knees. “Tell me about it?” she asks, trying her best to keep her hands steady.

“Nirah, it’s not important. Come here and rest with me?”

She huffs and shakes her head, continuing with the task she set for herself. She turns and sits up, fingers moving the bandage off, watching his muscles tense, his fingers grip the bedding. “See? Shouldn’t have to feel that. Talk to me, it’ll calm me.”

“It’s - listen, please? You’re shaking.”

“You got hurt, of course I’m shaking.”

Delrin sighs and covers his face with his hand, pressing fingers against his temples. “I hadn’t expected a Despair demon there. It…it mentioned Eris. It mentioned you. It mentioned…Andraste that burns!”

“It means it’s working.” Delrin sees her fingers bloodied, pressing the dried herbs against the wound. “Ice?” He hums and nods in response. “What…what did it say?”

“It spoke of how I let Eris down. How I’ll let you down.” Delrin groans as he feels his leg start to numb over - a relief in comparison to before. She works fast, wiping her fingers against her thighs, grabbing fresh bandages. “I dropped my defenses for only a moment when it spoke to me that you’d die away from me.” He feels a surge of cool energy flowing up his legs, winding and twisting around his wound.

She moves the bandages under his thigh and begins wrapping them. “Well, they are known to delve into your greatest hopes and pick away at them.”

“You’re quite good at this, you know.”

“I was going to be the next Keeper, I better be good at this.” Delrin feels the blanket move over his leg after she finishes wrapping, moving his hand to the back of his head, watching her collect her things. “Does it feel better?”

“Much. How was…? Andraste, I don’t even know where you went.”

“Crestwood.”

“Sad what happened to that town.” Delrin gestures for her to climb on the bed, but Nirah shakes her head, her hands playing with the fingers of his free hand. She touches the pads of them, examining the callouses. “I suppose my brother has been dealing with their refugees as of late.”

“Is that where you’re from?”

“Ah, just a day’s ride from there.” She twists his hand so his palm faces her, her eyes intent on counting the number of hard bumps earned from hard work and dedication. Anything really to keep her mind off of how badly she wants him. “Nirah, please come on this bed.”

“There isn’t enough room,” she whispers, the tip of her nail dragging up his finger.

“There’s plenty,” he reasons back at her. “I haven’t seen you in so long.”

Her lips curl up, lacing her fingers with his, gripping them tight. “You need your room.” She breathes in and rests her head against the bed, smiling at his frowning. “Have you spoken to Cullen?”

“No. I was rushed to the healer tents and then brought down here…somehow. I don’t know how I made that journey back. Did…” Delrin licks at his lips, forcing himself to move up against the pillows, staring better down at her. “Did something happen while I was gone?”

Nirah chuckles and raises his hand to her lips, kissing his knuckles. “He knows about us. Caught us before you left.”

“Maker’s breath, Nirah!” he sighs out, dragging his hand from his neck to over his head, covering his eyes as she looks up at him. “I thought you said no one went down there.”

“Clearly I was wrong. He doesn’t hate you, by the way.”

Delrin groans and twists his head away from her. “And of course you talked to him about this.” He squeezes her hand when he feels his own fingers being held tighter against hers. “Nirah -”

“He doesn’t hate you. He’s just lonely is my guess. I would be, too, if I didn’t have you around.”

Delrin breathes in deep, his chest rising up and expelling the air in one go. She was either in denial, he thought, or oblivious. He can feel the grip on his hand loosen and he shakes his head, tightening his own. “Please, come into bed?”  
Nirah shakes her head and moves to get up, bending over him to kiss his nose. “I need to check in,” she mutters, trying her hardest to inch away from his lips. He moves with her, grabbing at her neck and pulling her down to him, kissing her with renewed strength. She struggles and whimpers, kissing her moans away until his hands start to unhook the buttons of her coat. “Delrin,” she whines out.

“Maker forgive me, but please stay,” he begs at her, fingers racing up to unhook more and more until it’s open and he can see her tunic clinging to her skin. “Please,” he pleads, green eyes meeting her blue, wavering back and forth, searching her face for an answer.

“I have to -” He silences her response with a kiss, opening his mouth just enough to take her words from her lips and swallowing them. She leans deeper into the kiss, nails scraping against his pecs, sighing when she felt the cloth of his tunic instead of his skin. She breaks the kiss and reels back a bit, dipping her head down. “You’re hurt though.”

“My entire leg is numb from what you did.” He pushes the coat over her shoulders, watching her face as she wavers back and forth from staying and fleeing. He pulls her on top of him, holding her coat just over her elbows, his breath like summer air, the thought of Crestwood rushing through her mind and how the rain fell despite the sun shining on them. “We don’t even have to do anything but let me hold you ple -”

“Delrin Barris, if I am getting in this bed we are doing…things.”

“Is that a yes?” Nirah can feel the soft breath, the slow release as he tilts his head, angling to kiss her cheek, her jaw, her ear, whispering, “I have spent too long away from you.”

She pulls back more and slides her hands up and out of the sleeves of her jacket, crossing her arms and pulling her tunic up and over her head. His calloused hands are against her sides, gripping her so tight it nearly hurts. He slides his hands up, eager to release her breasts from the band, tugging it up and over, flinging it away. His fingers trace over the weight of her breasts, feeling them, trailing down her torso and pressing against her stomach. Thinner than he remembers and he stares up at her with wide eyes.

“What?” she mouths with a smile, lifting her hips and letting her fingers start to push her breeches down.

“Have you -” And he stops himself, chastising himself that he had no right to complain. That she was here and with him and nearly naked. Delrin blinked and ran a finger against her stomach, wishing that she took the hint, hoping she understood what he had meant in that one single movement. He licks at his lips, teeth biting down on the bottom and shaking his head.

Nirah smirks and wiggles her hips, her breasts shaking back and forth, taunting him to no end. He lifts the weight of them, nipples in the center of his palms, pressing upwards and releasing them. She shakes her head and leans up, feeling his fingers dig into her breasts as she lifts one knee, then the other, breeches free and falling with her boots. “You never asked me, you know.”

“It’s nothing, my dear.”

Her brows flick at that word. Dear. Pet names. And she flushes as she moves the blanket off of him. She pouts a bit at seeing his smalls still covering his length, her fingers brushing over it to move up to the hem, tugging it down over his hips, freeing the semi hard length. Delrin lifts his hips the best he can, a shooting spark coming from his wound rippling to his toes and he hisses.

“This isn’t smart,” Nirah whispers, the smile replaced with a frown.

“I think I know my own limits. If you don’t want to -”

“I want to!”

Delrin grins and sits up, stretching muscles he so needed to use. Lifting his tunic up, pulling it off and letting it fall to the ground, he shifts to allow her to lie down, but Nirah shakes her head, pushing him back against the pillows. “Are you sure, then?”

“Sure of what?” she sighs and lifts another pillow, moving it behind his back when he leans up.

“Not wanting to. I told you before I am -”

Nirah puffs her cheeks and blows a raspberry at him, smirking when he blinks in stunned silence. “I said it was fine. But I’m not having you bend your leg like that. Lie back.”

Delrin feels a pit in his stomach as she moves to straddle him, lowering herself just enough that he can feel the heat of her sex right against his pelvis, stirring something deep within his gut. “I have to say I’ve never…done this.”

Nirah smirks and leans forward, arching her back up and letting her hair cascade around his face. “My, my, Ser Barris. Done what?”

He grins at her teasing, his cock twitching with life when she rolls her hips backwards, brushing her sex over the tip of him. “Been…on the bottom.”

Nirah lifts a brow and moves her hips away, waiting for his hands to grasp at them and press them back. He did like it was second nature to him, fingers digging into the skin and holding her there. “Really? You just need to lie there, let me do the work.”

He laughs before her lips quiet him, kissing him sweetly once before deepening it. She wiggled back once more, already eager for him, but oh she could be so much more. She rolls her hips down, catching the head of his length against her clit and seething in a breath when it leaves. Another roll and another sigh of pleasure escaping her lips. Nirah doesn’t bother to look down, focusing on taunting herself and him.

But he watches her, oh Maker does he watch her face contort between pleasurable bliss and the desire of feeling it again and again. Her fingers work into the muscles of his shoulders, pushing herself away from him.

“Here,” she whispers, lifting her hips enough to reach back and grasp at the base of his length. “Grab -”

Delrin grabs where she directs, tilting his knees to get a better angle, ignoring the bolt of pain again that fades fast, and holds it steady. “There?”

She hums and sits up more, one hand brushing her hair over her head, the other holding her balance as she lowers herself on his -

“Fuck!” Delrin cries out the instant her lips spread, eager to lift his hips up and press the rest of the way in. Her eyes are wide at the flagrancy and stops just enough to lift herself up, the wetness of her folds lubricating his length as she presses back down, further this time. She watches his head fall back, eyes fluttering shut as his mouth hangs open, thrusting upwards into her. Nirah gasps, her mouth open just as much as his.

“Delrin,” she moans. Nails streak up his chest as she leans forward, settling herself in a right position, flexing her hips and lifting off. “Delrin, look at me.”

He blinks and tilts his head down, catching her lips with his. He releases his cock and his hands grab at her hips, pushing her down, needing more. She whines into his mouth, shifting away from him and rolling her hips in small circles. Her fingers twine themselves in her hair, nails scratching into her scalp.

Delrin doesn’t let her hips go, watching her twist on top of him like a dancer. Her breasts lift up and down with every circle, her back arching and straightening, riding his length. He juts up once, to catch her off guard, but Nirah switches directions, fighting for power right back at him. She listens to him moan and squirm under her, feeling his length twitch three times in joyous pleasure.

Nirah lifts her hips up, her walls closing in on him as she squeezes her muscles, falling back down and relaxing, up and then down, twisting and turning. His hands support her, eyes watching in wonder at how she moves.

And he feels himself grow closer with every passing moment, the waves crashing like the Storm Coast after a fresh thundering rain. He had never seen Nirah like this, her moans quiet and controlled, her body wild and free. Delrin lifts his hands upwards, squeezing her sides again, pressing up into her and falling back down to the bed, little tiny thrusts. Another shift of his hands and he’s squeezing her breasts, flicking her nipples, licking at his lips.

“Nirah, Nirah…please,” he whispers, needing more, needing to crash into her, clutch her to him. There’s a nagging taunting in the back of his mind and he presses it away, refusing to let his mind wander when she’s on top of him, riding him, surrounding him with herself. She’s swallowing, her breathing hitches and inconsistent. He can’t stand it and he wraps his arm around her, supporting himself with his one hand, lifting up and catching her lips off guard.

Nirah cries into his mouth as his hand, finding his balance, moves to her other side, hugging her and pumping into her wildly, helping her reach her momentum, helping her stride. Her inner thighs shake and quiver, holding herself up as much as she can so not to cause him pain. Delrin kisses at her cheek, her chin, her neck, feeling her pulse quicken when his tongue brushes her the skin. He sucks, hard. Biting the skin and sucking hard. Licking, nipping, sucking.

Nirah tilts her head back, her hair coiling and rolling down. His fingers feel the soft strands and pushes them out to catch her hair, to pull it towards her back. “Nirah,” he whispers between sucking and biting that one spot on her neck. “Nirah, I need more,” he groans out, bucking upwards, trying to move her, trying to pin her to the bed. “Maker, Nirah!”

She pushes back, leans forward, knocking him off balance and crashing against the bed. Still he clutches her, his knees pointed up and thrusting inside of her, deep as he can go, her wet lips spread enough to take him in, stretching and wet and surrounding him with utter warmth. It’s bliss to him as he breathes her in, feeling her walls tighten and release, tighten and release.

“Delrin!” her voice cracks, her own movements stopping as he fucks her. She’s gasping and groaning as he pushes her down and lifts her up. “Delrin! Please!”

He’s thinking of everything he can just to last enough to finish her off, to let her orgasm as much as she can so he can break free from her grasp.

But by Andraste as his sole witness, he doesn’t want to. He wants to explode inside of her, he wants to feel her inner walls slick with his seed, to hear her cry out in the mystifying throes of passion.

She’s whining and falling limp against him, her breasts rubbing against his muscles, her lips swollen from biting back the louder moans, the moans that would cause people rushing down. He doesn't care anymore, let them know. He has her, she is his and he is hers and - and Maker she felt amazing around him.

“Nirah,” his voice is low and sends shudders down her spine. He felt the first hot coil of his release, shivering at the way it filled her, at the way it was pushed deeper into her with his thrusts. “Nirah!” he cries out louder this time, hugging her tight, another spurt, and another. He clings to her tight, one hand against her shoulder blades, the other pressing the small of her back down. He’s shivering and shaking along with her, holding her steady as the last drops fill her and surround him. He rolled his hips up and heard her whine and whimper.

Panic is not a feeling he wanted to know after making love to her. Panic crawled up his throat, his breath shaking as he dislodged himself from her. Panic…

“Delrin, that was -” Nirah starts, a cat in heat as she rubbed and purred.

“Nirah, I’m so sorry! I’m sorry! Oh, Maker, what was I thinking!”

Nirah blinks the faded bits of pleasure away, rolling off of him, her thighs pressing close together as she straightens herself out. “What?”

“I - I,” he stutters out, shaking his head and attempting to move from the bed, stepping on his bad leg first, fire igniting in his veins as he crashes back into the bed. “By Andraste!”

Nirah moves fast, her fingers radiating pale green, circling round and round, kissing his bare leg and sparkling against the flesh. He sighs and quakes, fear replacing the panic, memories forever etched in his mind replaying over and over.

“Delrin? Please?” Nirah starts, afraid to touch him, afraid to move, afraid of the fact that he was so upset. “Please, look at me.”

He turns, tears escaping his eyes and getting lost in his mess of scruff. “Nirah, I -”

Her eyes search his, fingers flinching to move and brush the tears away. When he doesn’t flee and instead leans closer to her, she wraps her arms around him tight, pulling him back into the bed. She strokes the side of his face, easing him on the crooked and lumpy pillows. She presses her lips against his forehead, shaking in fear at his reaction. “Delrin, what…what happened? Is it your leg?”

“I…I released. In you. Inside of you.” His chest heaves as he begins to shake once again, but this time Nirah is there and holding him tight. “I’m so sorry, Maker, I am -”

“Ma vhenan, hush.”

He twists at the word she spoke, tightening his brow before shaking it and looking away. “Hush? How can I? You do know what happens when -”

“Did the Chantry teach you Templars nothing about sex?”

He pulls away from her, shrugging her off of him and glaring. “I know about sex. I know about sex and what happens when two people are foolish to allow it to happen. You - you are in no place to be carrying a child!”

“What is the concern for? Delrin I -”

“I’ve lost a son, damnit! I will not lose another child, another lover!”

It felt as if she had been slapped. Her stomach flipped as she watches him struggle to leave the bed, his frustrations growing as he grips the blankets, his breath heavy and teetering out of control. “Delrin.”

“No. Do not coddle me.”

She sucks in her lips and leans away from him, nestling close to the wall. “For the past few weeks, since we’ve started -”

“Nirah, please!”

“No, Delrin! Listen to me!” She reaches for him and see him twist away from her, covering his face with both hands. “There are herbs that I’ve been taking, three times a week, to prevent…this sort of thing.”

“Herbs? You wish me to put my faith in herbs?”

Nirah bites at her tongue to stop the fight from even beginning. “Delrin, I wish you would put your faith in me.”

She stands on the bed, stepping past him and landing on her feet with one small hop. “Where are you -”

“I have to check in, Ser Barris,” she says in a tone he had never heard her use.

He jolts to stand, ignoring the shrieking pain, grabbing at her shoulder and pulling her back from collecting her clothing. He limps closer to her, both arms coiling around, tugging her back towards the bed. “Nirah,” he breathes out. “Nirah, please understand.”

She wiggles once but allows him to fall back on the bed, pulling her with him. “Help me understand it, then.”

“I had a son. I had a son and he died to Darkspawn. I had a son, Nirah. I was stupid and young and -”

She grasps his face, holding his jaw and pulling him to her. “Delrin, why have you never told me this before?“

"You do know how much this hurts? To speak of such things? To have the memories come back and…” Delrin sighs and twists away from her. He didn’t want their time together to ever to end like this.

“A bit.” And she doesn’t say another word, fingers against his cheek, tracing the lines of worry. “Once a day I’m going to ask you one thing about him. About her. I want to know everything about you, Delrin. Good and bad. Your past and your present.”

For a moment she wants to know of his future, of his plans, if he was going to stay with her. She bites at her tongue, nuzzling his cheek to hide her shaking her head. “Just one question?” he stutters, the fear of the wrong question being asked.

“Just one. You can answer it or not and I won’t ever ask again,” she mutters to him.

Delrin sighs and turns back to look at her, his palm cupping her face, fingers pushing her hair back. “Fine.”

“His name?”

“Miel.” The name rolls off of his tongue like exactly what he was named after. The pain changes from his leg to his heart, feeling it pulse and shatter. He had never said his name to another being, not even his brothers and sisters or even his blood brother. “We must talk of something else, please.”

Nirah nods and turns from him, reaching down and grabbing his tunic, sliding it on and feeling his warmth no matter how it hung off of her. “I’m…thinking of taking down the dragon in the Hinterlands?”

Delrin groans and twists his head away from her, hearing her give a light chuckle, a worrisome chuckle. “Then I will be going with you when you go.”

Nirah laughs and covers her mouth, crawling over him to stretch her legs, to let him adjust his wounded leg better. “Will you now?”

He gives her a weak smile back, listening her go on and on about this dragon. She’s waiting for him to tell her to stop but the words never leave her mouth. Part of him wishes that she would ask another question about Miel, and his smile grows at the thought of remembering. He blinks at finding his fingers caressing her stomach, his smile even larger at the thought of the future.


	13. Part 13

Nirah lives up to her word. One question, every day, and she moves onto something else.

“When was he born?”

“Spring time.”

And every day, Delrin gives more and more to the answers of her questions.

“How old was he?”

“Eight months. Just learning to walk.”

Nirah never pries, never requires more. Just one question.

“What did he look like?”

“His mother. Honey hair, honey eyes, honey skin. It’s why we chose Miel. Orlesian, I think. Don’t know...why we chose that.”

It happens between conversations, between work, never at the same time a day. Just whenever Nirah had a question appear in her mind.

“What was she like? Eris, that is.”

“A lot like you. Free spirited, never let anything hold her back. Although, her roguish nature got her in far more trouble than I’ve seen you get into. Seeing her in the Alienage killed me, though.”

He looks forward to the questions now, dreading them when she first mentioned it. The memories come easier, and they bring a smile to his face. He treats it like its the most natural thing in the world.

“What was Miel like?”

“A ball of energy that never seemed to end. Eris would bring him to the chapel so I could see him more often and constantly screamed and laughed in the midst of prayer. The face of the Mother when I refused to escort them out was priceless. Hah! And the way he would eat…such a mess.”

An entire day goes by and the memories are swarming his mind. He waits and waits, sitting on her couch, files and paperwork on the seat next to him, watching her work diligently on reports of her own. He hears the skittering of the quill, her penmanship more refined than months prior. He hears her hum when the quill stops. But not a single question. He glances out the balcony doors, frowning at the amount of dim light shining through from the torches outside. “Are you not going to ask?” he finally musters up the courage to say.

“Ask what?” she replies. More scratching of the quill and it clinks into the inkpot. “It’s getting dark. I haven’t had a chance to go over -”

“You didn’t ask me a single question today about them.”

She looks up to catch him crossing her room towards her desk, hands placed palm down. “I didn’t realize you looked forward to it this much.”

“It helps. I’ve…I’ve felt better about my life than I have since they passed. So please, ask.”

Nirah chuckles, stretching her arms up in the air. “I honestly can’t think of anything, Delrin. What do you want to tell me about them?” She stands and moves around her desk, her hands finding his arm and leaning up to give him a chaste kiss.

“I -” He swallows as he watches her move towards her bed. She falls face first into the blankets and turns over, leaning on her hand to watch him. “I don’t know.”

“Well, I suppose I could ask the question I’ve been saving.” Delrin moves to the bed and leans against one of the posts. “If they were still alive?”

He swallows hard, the black pit in his stomach massive enough as is. “What do you mean?”

“Clearly things would be different. What would…what would happen?”

He sighs and rests his head against the post, rubbing his scalp with the palm of his free hand. “I wouldn’t be here, that’s for sure. I’d probably still be in Denerim and Eris would be at my family’s keep with Miel.”

“Would you have left the Templars?”

“That’s two.” Nirah sucks in her lips, watching the curve of his lips move up. “Possibly, it’s hard to say. Before, it would have been far easier. Over ten years of…well, it would be difficult to quit.” He moves onto the bed, kneeling and crossing his arms, waiting for her to speak. “I don’t mind you asking questions.”

She’s resting on her back, staring up at the canopy and how it dips down, counting the ripples caused by the heavy weight of the fabric. “Would you quit for me?”

“What brought this on?”

Nirah turns to look at him, the fire causing the wetness in her eyes to shimmer. “Just a discussion with Cullen. He’s…he’s completely off lyrium. Has been for a while. Just curious if I would have to have the same discussion twice in one day…it’s a silly notion. I know the answer, though. Not sure why I asked.”

Delrin lies down next to her, fingers delving into the depths of her hair, pushing the strands out of her face. “Tell me what you think my answer would be.”

Nirah laughs and resumes looking at the canopy. “No, of course. You’re a dedicated Templar, Delrin. And it would be selfish of me to -”

“Is that what Cullen said? That I’d say no?”

Nirah lets her face contort together. “No. He thinks…well, he’s curious why you are not encouraging it amongst the other Templars.” Her fingers dance with each other, the tips rubbing against the pads and down to her palms. “It made me think if you would…but I know you won’t.”

Delrin swallows, his mind churning a mile a minute. “You truly believe that I wouldn’t do that?”

“I wouldn’t ask it of you.” She turns away from him, sitting up and stretching her arms out to fully stand. She walks a few paces and stops. “I’ve only heard second hand stories of what happened in the Circles. Some were good, most were not. It’s only a simple question that -”

“That you are presuming to know the answer to.” Delrin sits up and stares at her, face furrowed tight and his hand gripping his thighs. “I would, should you ever feel the need to ask.”

She wraps her arms around her middle, squeezing and turning to face him. “Even knowing what it does? Even knowing the consequences?” Delrin nods and extends one hand towards her, touching her arm and directing her to move closer to him. “Delrin, why? Why would you do that? I see what it does to Cullen! I wouldn’t want -”

“I love you.”

Nirah blinks, her mouth still hanging open from being cut off. Her face pales and she stumbles forward. “What?” she manages to whisper out, shaking her head back and forth and staring down at him.

“I love you. You asked me why I would do such a thing and it’s because I -”

She presses her forehead to his, kissing his nose, his cheek, his jaw, the corner of his lip. Her hands rest against his shoulders, her entire body shaking like a fallen leaf on the wind. His hands hold her sides steady, pulling her closer to him until she’s straddling his lap. “You love me?” she mutters between each kiss.

“You - you’re acting like you’re surprised!”

“I am!” Nirah gives him a sad laugh and pulls back from him, hands pressed against her chest. She whispers into the air around them, “I am surprised. You love me?”

“I do. Very much so,“ he trails off, squeezing her sides, pulling her back to being close to him. “By the Maker, please tell me I did not just make a fool of myself.”

Nirah laughs, and sits up right, tears spilling from her eyes like a dam had been broken through. “How in all of the Fade would that make you a fool?”

Delrin squeezes her tighter, their lips meeting once, taking her bottom lip between his, breathing her in deep. “You haven’t said it back,” he mouths, his voice disappearing between her lips.

“I haven’t?” Nirah pulls away from his lips, nipping on his top lip before straightening her back. “I could have sworn -”

He hugs her completely, burrowing his face into the crevice of her neck, breathing her in, feeling her hair tickle his head. “Do -”

“I love you, Delrin.”

She’s pressing her fingers against the line of his hair, holding him so dreadfully close. She can feel the muscles along his back relax and melt. She can feel his fingers squeeze into the thick of her back, gripping her like she were a safety blanket of a child.

He releases a breath he held for so long, releases his grip on her soon after. “Thank the Maker you said that,” he whispers when he lets her go and pulls away from her.

“You sounded worried there,” she replies with a sniffle, dragging her fingers from his scalp to her face, rubbing away the tears. “Did you think I would say no?”

“My luck will run out eventually, I fear.” Each of them are content just sitting there, Nirah allowing her fingers to memorize his face, Delrin never breaking his eyes from hers.

He remembers saying those three words to Eris before, whispering it a hundred times before leaving, as if it were a confirmation. A thought passes by faster than he can blink. He knows, deep down, he doesn’t need to say it, doesn’t need to repeat it. In all the little things she had done up to this moment, he knew. He knew and he prayed that she knew.

Delrin presses his nose to her cheek, breathing in her scent, memorizing it all over again. “Do you - do you know -” His words are lost in his mind and he shakes away the fuzziness of pure happiness.

“Do I know?” she nuzzles back as she speaks, kissing his temple. He breathes and lifts her up, feeling her thighs and knees tighten to him, calves pressed against his back as she coils her legs around him, her arms clutching him tight. “Creators, Delrin!”

He walks forward, fingers grasping the muscles of her rear tight, smirking as he brings her towards the door that led to her private bath. “You make me ridiculously happy.”

“Where are you taking me?” she says with a large smile. “I was quite happy on the bed, you know.”

“I’m not leaving tonight.” The corners of Nirah’s mouth fall, her bottom lip opening just enough that he can see the bottoms of her teeth. “I’m not leaving tonight, or tomorrow, or ever again unless you tell me to.”

“Delrin,” she warns with a whimper. He shifts her up to free one hand, pushing on the handle to open the door, kicking it the rest of the way in. The scent of left over oils hangs in the air, lilac mixed with rose tumbled with cinnamon splashed with vanilla. “What of the implications?”

He drops her down onto the bench just next to the stone bath. He moves next to the pump, beginning to draw the bath water out. The Dwarven inventions never cease to amaze him. “I don’t care anymore.”

Nirah goes to stand but Delrin turns, one arm pointed at her, directing her to sit back down. The sound of rushing water echos as the tub began to fill. “I’m not asking you to leave the Templars. Or even to quit using lyrium.” He nods once, pumping again to cause another wave of water to flow from the spigot. “If you do choose to quit,” and she gnaws on her bottom lip at the thought, “please wait?”

“Wait?” He squats down in front of her, the pad of his thumb pressing against her bottom lip. “Why wait?”

She twists her head away from him, the smile long gone from her face as she stands. “Did you forget where we are going this week?”

It clicks in his mind. Of course he would forget that. The invitation had come just a week prior and by falcon no less, nearly scaring Leliana’s crows half to death at the way it landed inside the rookery. His brother always enjoyed being the center of attention, always enjoyed the flagrant lifestyle of being the next Bann Barris of Ferelden, flaunting it around like a shield to guard him.

Delrin drags a hand down his face, biting back the groan building up. “Must we?”

“Josephine thinks it will be good practice for the Winter Palace. And your brother wants to thank the person who saved his little baby brother’s -”

Nirah’s smile returns fast as she begins to laugh loudly. His fingers dig under her clothes, running up and down her bare sides, tickling her until she leans forward into his arms. “You’re in for a shock when you meet him, you know.”

She smirks and leans against him, fingers brushing over the scruff along his jaw. “An older, more handsome, more charming version of you?” she purrs, feeling his muscles tense.

“An older version of me, yes. I’ll - I’ll let you be the judge of the other two.” He peels off his shirt, the fabric tumbling to the ground as he moved towards fireplace, the light dim and fading. The sound of the running water had long since left, the tub filled just past halfway. Nirah stands and lifts her hand, watching Delrin tense at the flow of magic in the air, his hands curling into tight fists. The flames in the fire come to life and with a flick of her fingers, the water began steaming.

He turns and shakes his head, watching her untie the top of her tunic. “What?” Nirah sticks out her tongue as she piles her shirt on top of his, picking them up and placing them on the bench.

“Your magic is a gift, not something to be thrown about to do minute tasks. I can do these things.”

Nirah wrinkles her nose tight, shaking her head back and forth. “It’s faster this way. Now I don’t have to wait to see you fully naked.” She watches him puff out his chest as he undoes his belt. His fingers move fast, fumbling until it unlatches. “Does it bother you that much?”

“After all this time, it bothers me that I can’t get a read on your magic. I can’t…I can’t pin it down. I feel the pull in all the wrong -” He bites his tongue, closing his eyes as Nirah tugs her breeches off. “Not wrong. Different. You pull at it differently than Circle mages.” He sighs and steps out of his pants, crossing over to her to feel the softness of her skin, to let his hands marvel in the way she felt under his grasp. “It worries me that it will catch me off guard again.”

“Well, next time, I’ll be sure to keep my guard up.”

He dips down to catch her lips but Nirah pulls back, arms twisting together in the air, wiggling her hips at him. He grabs at the band around her breast, lifting it off with ease, staring at her face as her hands fell from the air back down to her sides. “You shouldn’t have to keep your guard up. I should know control.”

He doesn’t catch her fingers fast enough as she slides them into the hem of his smalls, tugging them down inch by inch. “You know plenty of control, Delrin. I suppose we could always just duke it out in the field; then you’d get a real taste of Dalish magic.”

“And the real reason why you want me to wait comes out,” he chuckles as his smalls fall to the ground and he steps out from them, pressing against her.

“No! Not true at all!” Nirah laughs when his fingers rub against her pelvis, sliding one finger in at a time as he backed her towards the bath. “After - after - Creators, Delrin!” She twists her hips away, digging her fingers to pull off the last bit of clothing. “After I’m leaving for the Western Approach.”

His smile slips away, hands on her biceps and pulls her back to crash into him. “Are you positive I can’t go with you then?”

“Someone needs to be here to keep my bed warm.”

Delrin lifts her easily by her waist, hoisting her up and stepping into the bath, mindful at how deep it sinks into the ground. He leans his rear against the edge of the tub, dropping her down first before sinking himself into the heated water. He watches the water engulf her, how she bends back and takes a breath of air, dipping her entire head to vanish. Bubbles rise up before she does, fingers raking through the strands before reaching towards him, pulling him close to her.

Nirah can feel the bumps on her skin start to form under his touch. His fingers racing to find their places where he knew she loved. Just at the small of her back, palm flat against her and fingers splayed out. His free hand roams her skin, examining the slight scratches from her travels, never transitioning into scars, disappearing by the next bath. He pulled her into his lap, moving to her shoulder and kissing there, lips trailing and tasting down her arm. When he reaches where the water lines up, he moves to the top of her chest and up to her collar bone. Her fingers dig deep into the muscles of his shoulder blades, pressing herself further onto him, sitting in his lap.

Delrin leans back, bringing her with him, resting against the side of the tub, her within arm’s reach of the oils to fill the bath with. Her eyes never broke from his gaze, her fingers brushing over the tops of various thick glass bottles. Nirah kisses him once, deepening it to reach the last bottle. She pulls back, his lips wrapping around her bottom lip, holding it and whining when she breaks free.

“Which one did you grab?” he asks, wet hands stroking up her sides. He squeezes just under her breasts, thumbs brushing the flesh just under them.

Nirah uncorks it and begins letting the oil slip into the bath, smiling at the smell of spice and sweet, the smell of lemon and orange and chamomile blending together, coursing its way through the water and lifting up with the steam. Delrin moans at the smell and takes one large breath of air, sinking deeper until the water reaches his neck. Nirah stretches out against him, tendrils of her hair floating around her. “Approve?”

“This may be my favorite, yet.”

Nirah smiles and leans up, kissing his chin and whispering, “I love you.”

Ripples of water followed by droplets as Delrin pulls her closer, flipping to move on top of Nirah. “I love you.”

His fingers run along her skin, eliciting a moan to break free, working his way down her legs, stopping at her feet and moving both hands to one, fingers digging into the muscle. Her toes curl and she sank lower, tossing her head back as he works. He lifts it up and presses his lips to the bottom of her foot, dropping it down and repeating the process on the other.

She grins at him and tilts her head back again, fingers dragging across the bottom of the bath, curling tight as he works the muscles free from pain and aches. “How long - oh! There,” she hums, toes pointing up now. “How long have you been meaning to say that to me?”

He laughs and places the foot back down in the water, leaning back against the other side. Rinse and repeat, the two had a routine that they would never stray far from. Nirah grasps one of his long legs, starting with his ankle by rubbing it, rolling it slow and gentle, stretching the arch of his foot out. “How long do you think?”

She smiles and raises her fist to the ball of his foot, using her knuckles to work out the knot there. “I’m not sure? Perhaps…a week?”

Delrin laughs and shakes his head. She moves to the other foot, the water splashing as she lifts it out of the water. “The night I came to you after Val Colline.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” He hums in response, arms stretching along the sides of the tub and tilts his head. “Would have been something straight out of that romance serial of Varric’s.”

Delrin grins and reaches for her, pulling her towards him until she begins turning, leaning against his chest. He dips his hands into the water and raises them to her hair, massaging her scalp as she melts against his body. “I thought people liked romance.”

“Nothing wrong with romance at the right time,” she purrs out, wiggling her body back and forth against him. His knuckles graze the tips of her ears, making her jolt in shock.

“I’ll have to remember that, then,” he whispers directly into her ear, kissing just at the tip and resuming his task at hand.


End file.
